


Father, Who Am I?

by Kishie8



Series: Father, Who Am I [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Direwolf Puppies (ASoIaF), Direwolves (ASoIaF), Dragons, Dreams, Eggs, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Jon Snow, First Time, Fluff, Genderbending, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is a Good Sibling, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Love, Not Beta Read, Prophetic Visions, The North (ASOIAF), Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kishie8/pseuds/Kishie8
Summary: Would you like to hear a slightly different tale of A Song Of Ice & Fire?Jon Snow was born female.Jon Snow was brought up as Alarra Snow, still hated by Catelyn Tully Stark but loved by those who she thought were her true-born siblings and Father.Alarra was an exact replica of her Father; fair complexion, purple eyes, pale hair and sharp physical features. Though her Rhoynar-ma, Wylla Sand, has been colouring her curls long before she ever learnt to question anything in life.She has two personal guard's; Arden and Lewos. Two guard's who swore promises and vows to protect her with their swords, shields and lives; vows and promises made when she still lay in her Mother's womb.She was named Visenya Targaryen, First of her Name.True daughter to Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna.True sister to Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.True Heir to the Iron Thorne . . .This is her story.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne & Jon Snow, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Bran Stark, Jon Snow & Oswell Whent, Jon Snow & Rickon Stark, Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Monford Velaryon, Monford Velaryon/Original Female Character(s), Visenya Targaryen/Monford Velaryon
Series: Father, Who Am I [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120922
Comments: 169
Kudos: 225
Collections: Jon Snow is female





	1. Chapter 1 : Part 1   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Dragon's Flight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159655) by [Madrigal_in_training](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madrigal_in_training/pseuds/Madrigal_in_training). 



> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal-in-training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> WARNING P.S. Though there is no rape commited within this chapter, it is attempted. JUST A WRANING!  
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**296\. AC : Winterfell : Godswood : Alarra Snow.**

**G** ods of my Father, Weirwood and Children of the Forests. I pray to you morning, noon and night and yet it seems you still do not heed my hushed or vocal pleas, though it has been my one and only prayer since being six years old and not knowing any better after accidentally calling the Lady of Winterfell, ‘Mother’.

 _But Gods of my Father, I need you to show me something. I need your guidance and help._

_I know naught what to do._

When I was six name-days old, it was the first time Lady Stark had ever struck me. Mayhap's she didn't strike often, tis’ most definite not the last I have felt of her palms stinging connection against my cheeks, though tis’ certainly the last time I ever uttered _that_ word in her presence. 

Tis’ been nine years since that particular incident; me finding out I am a base-born child and a decrepit stain upon my Lord Fathers honour and life and legacy. I could not help but feel the crawling silver of guilt and shame on behalf of my birth mother whomever she may have been, all the knowledge I have of this phantom woman was that Father loved her dearly enough to forget his honour existed and Father a Bastard during the war, despite the his newly wedded bride awaiting his return with their own child; Robb.

Though, how I have tried. I tried for the lack of a mother to have it not affect my peace of mind, to not let it turn me into a bitter, ugly and jealous creature. I could not help but wish for that specific warmth and happiness in which is freely showered upon my _half_ -siblings - mayhap's not towards Arya as much as she shows towards Sansa. My little sister adoringly declares to me whenever I feel particularly down or when I take her here, to the Godswood, to teach her what I had learnt from Ser Arden and Ser Lewos ‘secret’ lessons away from Lady Stark’s ever judging Southern eyes, or to just sing my prayers. Then there are times where I take her on horseback outside the castle walls when I finally muster enough courage to seek Father in his solar for permission (of course with Ser Arden and Lewos not far behind on their own horses), that I, Alarra Snow. 

Me alone, can be the only single being who understands her for who she is, just as she does me in return. 

_Yet, will my sweet little sister understand me now? Will she understand-_

But despite it all; the shrewd comments, disgustingly hungry looks, the accusing stares, the punishments inflicted upon me whether it be because I stood up for Arya against the hateful ‘sisterly’ comments of Sansa and Jeyne, or due to me falsely professing to the mistakes of which Arya or Bran had committed. I suspect that Lady Stark knew I had not committed the wrongdoings of which her middle children were guilty of, but I could see she took delight in my punishments, ranging from a physical strike to going evenings (and if she is feeling more vindictive than normal, mornings) without food and water. 

Bran and Arya (Old Gods bless them) loved me despite my name being Snow and not Stark as is theirs. 

_Lady Stark would have more reason to convince Father to get rid of me, once and for all._

I was the second person to hold Arya after Father. I was the first one to see her first steps for those steps were towards me, towards ‘laa-la’. Bran’s first words were my name, not ‘pa-pa’ or ‘ma-ma’. The reason Bran wanted to become a Knight was due to my renditions of tales spoken or sung to him and Arya when they snuck into my chambers. Bran and Arya were the only reason why I had not run away for I knew they needed me as much as I needed them. 

Then there was Robb. 

My crib-mate, twin in everything but blood and name and brother, we were practically joined by the hip until Theon Greyjoy was brought back after his own Fathers failed rebellion by our Father. It had taken an entire fortnight before Theon Greyjoy became more ‘faster’, ‘easier to spar with’ and finally a ‘boy’ to be around. Not that I blamed Robb, for at first I also was enamoured by the older boy. Wanting to learn how to wield a bow as he does, wanting to know about the Iron Islands and how it felt to be at sea, but then as the years went by Theon became . . . far too eager to be around _me_ and not Robb. 

I remember the evening as though it has just occured behind the lids of my eyes. I and Robb had both turned ten and three years old two days prior and if it wasn’t for my lessons with Ser’s Arden and Lewos (though I was relatively new to my lessons then, but I was told I made up my lack of practice with eagerness), I would have been defenceless against the ten and six stringy yet muscular, young Squid. 

Lords and Ladies from the North (and even some from the Riverlands) had all journeyed to Winterfell in honour of their future Lord Liege’s name-day. I had been directly and strictly ordered by Lady Stark to make myself as scarce and away from the commonly occupied parts of the castle as possible, for I _‘wouldn’t want possible future suitors of my half-sisters to have their eyes go astray’_. 

And so I did. 

Remembering the amount of joy I felt when Father had given me his express permission to make use of the Library and Godswood as much as I wanted to, but, I was to be supervised under Maester Luwin when attending the Library at all times. Though for reasons untold to me I couldn’t help but feel hurt by Fathers words of not being allowed to freely read through books and scribes as old as the Winterfell itself. Tis’ not as though Robb, Sansa or Arya would read through these passages, even if it were at sword point, and pup Rickon was just that. A babe. Again, the status of me being a Bastard was now being used against me by my own Father. 

_Though, that was what I had thought until now._

Maester Luwin had agreed to teach me Valyrian, though Father had been quite against the idea of my learning the language of the Dragon riders. I could understand why he would be against my learning it due to the history between both Stark and Targaryen, though I believe it to be the war in which nearly took away all Stark’s to the next life to be the main reluctance of Fathers. Yet, Father relented and gave Maester Luwin strict orders to _only_ give me lessons on the language and nothing more. But of course with Fathers vassals needing assistance and such, during these instances I was left on my own and decided to take advantage of these stretches of an absent Maester Luwin, to read older books that were hidden deeper and higher within the tower. Books about House Targaryen, their vassals; House Celtigar and the Velaryon's that had escaped with them during the Doom of Valyria, and it’s history in more depth. 

Though Ser Arden and Ser Lewos were not bothered about my fascination to be taught Targaryen history, as a matter of fact, the Knights had been adamant about the matter. And at the time I didn’t know why they had been so enthused about the matter, as Arden was clearly of Dornish upbringing if his accent was anything to go by, and Lewos was either Riverland’s or Westerland’s, though with his eyes I would say Riverlands as they remind me of Lady Stark.

Both Knight’s had pitch black hair, like Fathers, mine and Arya, though I had once overheard Lewos jokingly japing with Arden about ‘hair-dye’ or some sort.

 _Mayhap's_ _it was the same oil Rhoynar-ma used on my hair?_

So, it was after nearly being caught by Maester Luwin reading said ‘forbidden’ books that I was dismissed by the kind but firm Maester as he was needed by Lady Stark, so after finding Arya and Bran watching the men sparring in the courtyard from the open balcony of the adjoining bridged-corridor, I informed the pups where I was to be found if I was needed and then I made my way out of the Tower to the Godswood without being noticed. 

Or so I had thought.

I was singing a prayer to the Gods of Old, sitting within the roots of the Weirwood tree comfortably within its pale bark when I heard a slow, single set of mocking applause . . .

  
  


**_294\. AC : Godswood : Flashback_ **

_Startled out of my peace, I snap my head towards the main opening of the Godswood and notice a thin, lanky-ish figure firstly. Tis’ was not nightfall yet, so darkness was not upon us yet._

_I should have retired to my chambers._

_“Who goes there? Rhoynar-ma?” I call out, now standing upright and facing the man, for this person was clearly a man._

_I ignored the impulse to shake off the fallen snow that littered my breeches and cloak and focused upon the man who was now slowly circling towards the hot spring pool, just in front of the Weir tree. With each step he took, the familiar his face became._

_It was Theon._

_Alone._

_“Theon? What are you doing here? I thought you would be with Robb or Father?” I question clearly, though I was now stepping away from the weir tree and was making my way towards the entrance when Theon slid into my obvious path, halting my journey but still stood some feet away from my person._

_“Ohh, nothing your little_ Snow-y _head needs not worry about, base-born” laughingly and sarcastically, Greyjoy spoke. Swinging his arms out in front of him and breathing quite deeply, moving back and forth but not coming any closer._

_I was not dull minded. I understood what men were capable of even before Wylla - my Rhoynar-ma - had explained to me. She explained that if the gut clenches, feel discomfited and trapped, to listen to it, as one's body knows more than their mind does in instances like this, and that was to do what Rhoynar-ma vehemently repeated to me._

_Run._

_“Just heard your voice and deemed you needed . . . company,_ Snow, _” the Squid continued. He took pride in the fact he was an heir and a true-born one at that and held more value than I, a Bastard. But he forgets I am Eddard Stark's Bastard and is seen in better light than he North of the Neck._

_“I was only singing a prayer to the Old Gods, tis’ all Greyjoy. Though I believe tis’ close to the feast if the clouds have any say. You should make your way back. You’ve been ordered by Father to attend the feasts until the Vassals have all left,” I spewed nonsense. Discreetly, my eyes flickering to and fro, looking to my left unconsciously for my second and safer exit, though it seemed I had not been as discrete enough._

_“Yes. Your solemn, oh-so honourable, tree praying Stark Father did order me to do so, yet here I stand Bastard,” he leeringly grins, arms spread open, which gave me a moment to notice he is not without his hand dagger on the waist of his breeches, and begins to step closer._

_I should have tried finding Arden or Lewos._

_Taken aback by his comment, I failed to see he had moved closer._

_“Mind your tongue, Greyjoy. That is my Father you speak of and your Lord Liege. Were it not for him, you would be a ‘crushed-in-head’ underneath Baratheon’s war hammer and not standing here today. Show him respect as he has shown you,” I demand. My finger pointed out towards him and a frown knowingly taking over my face._

_Was this his plan? To antagonise me? More so than normal by emphasising my Bastard status, verbally spitting on my Father and not letting me leave._

_Shaking my head, I make towards the main opening of the woods once more but was again stopped by Theon, who was now an arm's length or two away from me. His height compared to my own was not much, but twas’ significant. He leans forward to grab my outstretched hand and makes a light connection to my skin before I snatch it back, stopping him grabbing my hand entirely._

_Taking an unconscious step back I straighten my shoulders, I raise my head so I can look him square in the eyes._

_“I will ask you once and no more Greyjoy and if you do not comply, I promise before the Old Gods I will cut off any piece of you that dared touch my skin. Move,” I gravely declared, but it seemed to echo as I stood in front of the Weirwood tree._

_*snapping of branches*_

_*snapping of branches*_

_I hear a sudden snapping of branches coming from the West of the woods and then another set instantaneously from the opening and before I could stop it, Theon had grabbed me by the throat, nails squeezing into the flesh and had slammed me directly against the carved face of the Weirwood tree._

_I should have run._

_Hitting my head against the tree first and then my back, I had the air momentarily knocked out of me. Trying to catch my breath, I looked up to see that revolting cat-like grin appear on his shallow face and I fully realised this pathetic boy was going to try to commit against my will. He had his booted foot pressed against my stomach in order for me to not move as he untied his cloak with a pull of its leather ties excitedly yet leeringly. When the cloak fell behind him and onto the snow covered floor his hands hurriedly made their way to the ties of his breeches, fumbling when the ties knotted._

_But not before following through with my promise._

_When Theon looked down to his breeches, seeing they had knotted together and were stuck I saw my opportunity and took it. Grabbing his foot I push it to my left, before bringing my own foot and slamming it into his knee with so much force he begins to topple down and forwards, but before he does I jump up and grab him by the shoulders. I pull my right leg back and swing it knee first with all force and might right in between his legs, relishing in the feeling of satisfaction when I hit him right where it hurts. He crumpled down to the snow covered roots of the Weirwood tree floor where I had been sitting not long ago. Theon now cradles his crotch, withering around and even seemed glassy eyed._

_Still winded I rest my hands on my knees and come level eyed with a pathetic, pitiful and un-honourable fool._

_“All you needed to do was move, you ungrateful and hopeful-to-be rapist.”_

_I had reared back my fist and launched it towards his kneeling face. The sounds and feel of a nose breaking were two very different things. I barely felt the break, but the crunch of the bone rang around the woods._

_Well, it seemed so to me._

_With a whimper, he begins to cradle his bleeding nose._

_Stumbling away from him, I begin to make way to the main opening back towards the castle. My hand made its way to my neck where I felt coolness and wetness, as well as pain. Bringing my hand back to view, I see a generous amount of blood coating my palm and fingers in patches._

_I was going to bruise and I was already finding it painful to swallow._

_*snapping of branches*_

_My head instinctively whips behind me towards the source of noise. Looking towards a still whining Theon. My breathing was heavy and the heat from my panting was foggy in front of me, I turned to look at the opening and then to the outskirts of where the noise came from. Tis’ was if I had a . . . feeling._

_A pull, that was calling me._

_Going with my gut feeling_ again _I began to walk, my eyes felt stuck in place and didn’t seem to want to waver. The more I walked further the sense of this odd feeling became stronger and so strong all I heard was peace. Quietness. Nothing._

_That was why I didn't hear the thunder of single footfalls hastily walking towards me until I was yanked and then struck on the side of my head and more directly my ear, and it seemed reality came plummeting down and me with it._

_“Should have run when you had the chance, Snow. Now I’ll show you what a Squid does to a Bastard.”_

_“Father-!” Before he cocked back his closed fist and began raining down punches upon my face._

_I was fighting as much as I could but his weight on top of me was too much for me to toss off. I tried calling out but was cut off with a steel grip around my throat. My vision blurry and left ear ringing, as though Mare was ringing the bell for supper. I felt hands groping and grabbing at my chest though I kept trying to scratch them off. I scratch, jerk and kick but it seemed it was all in vain. All I heard was the taunting laughter from my soon-to-be tormentor._

_But I was not giving up. I may be a Snow but I had the blood of the Straks!_

_Then suddenly Theon stopped groping and looked over his shoulder. My head lolls to the same direction to see a six yearss old boy._

_Bran._

_“Bran, run-” I croaked but was cut off but the grip on my throat. I grip Theon’s wrist to try and stop him but he holds his grip._

_“Well look at what we have here. A pup comes to rescue his Bastard sister-” Theon was cut off from his speech by Bran._

_“Let go of Alarra now, Theon!” Bran shouts and stomps his foot, bringing back his arm and throwing a rock with as much force his small body could muster, it lands on the Squid’s chest with a slight thud, deflecting and landing to the right of my head on the snow covered earth._

_My hand quickly moves down and I grip the handle._

_“Ahaha, what can your stones do to me you annoying little git,” Theon punched me close to the side of my eye once more before standing up. He began to mockingly make his way to my little brother._

_I tried grabbing him but he kicked my ribs and I curled into myself, tucking the blade against my chest away, though I was finding it so hard to concentrate for the amount of pain coming from my face, that it felt numb._

_“Bran . . . Run.” Again I croaked, trying to persuade him away from the danger. Looking around from something, my eyes widen and then I begin to stand gripping the handle to the dagger securely. I hobble up to my feet as silently as I could, Bran begins to talk louder and louder and I realise he was either trying to mask any noise I was making or trying to get attention from the guards stationed closest to the Godswood entrance as Theon continues to carry on his bloody speech._

_I begin to hastily limp towards Theon just as he was about to make a grab for Bran, but Weirdwood bless him for he ducked and rolled on the ground just like I had shown Arya, away from Greyjoys grasp, and it seemed the Squid was not impressed._

_“Oh! You think ducking and rolling will keep you safe you little-”_

_“-O’course i’will.”_

_“Hu-”_

_Jumping at him, my white knuckled fist landed squarely upon his cheek and nose, sending his head so far to his right he was facing the Weirwood tree once more. When my feet hit the ground, I stumble to my knees as I wheeze and pant, my ribs protesting against my physical actions though with the adrenaline bursting through me and the need to protect Bran I get my footing steady enough to stand._

_“Bran, you must run-” The words delivered with blood spittles._

_“No! You’re hurt and Arya - Theon!” Bran screams._

_Swinging around to face the young man, I push Bran behind me and I feel his hands grip the material of my cloak. Turning around with the blade raised unconsciously to maim and tis’ all becomes a blur. As I brought the dagger upwards the blade must have caught his hand, most specifically his bow fingers. I did not feel the daggers blade slice through his fingers, though I felt a slight give. It was as if I was cutting through air which was why I immediately brought my left leg up and kicked/pushed him away upon instinct to keep as much distance as possible. It was not until I saw Theon shriek and manically groan clutching his right hand that I noticed where once his two fingers connected to his hand were no longer there, and once I followed the blood trail on the snow I noticed his fingers laying there._

_Unmoving and severed._

_By me._

_My first instinct is to grab Bran and run though as far away from Theon and straight into our chambers, mine or his I do not care, just away. Though, I do not know whether it was from the beating Theon set upon me, my side or the loss of blood, or the notion of a hand missing it’s two fingers that made me light headed, but I felt my head begin to spin and my stomach churned all the same._

_The notion of someone dying was not a notion new to me. Father had taken me, Robb and Theon to watch him pass the King’s justice not many moons past, but the notion of cutting someone's fingers off and having to live fingerless? That is not something for the light hearted._

_Ignoring the howls and wailing, I stumble to face Bran and lift his little body up and try, try to make haste out of the Godswood for once and for all, no matter my stumbling or limping. Bran’s head is buried in the hollow of my neck gripping me tightly around my waist and shoulders, with one arm of mine wrapped around him protectively and the other slowly losing its grip on the dagger. Black spots had begun to cloud my sight though I tried to blink them away, and all that I could hear was my shallow breaths, Bran’s muffled weeping and again the distant snapping of branches and . . ._

_Hurried footfalls from behind me-_

_Gasping, I am yanked back from my lengthy hair and pushed to the ground with Bran still in my arms._

_“YOU STUPID BITCH! I WILL SHOW YOU WHAT A BASTARD GIRL YOU ARE-!”_

_In a flash of grey and grown, a blur leapt from behind Theon and gripped him by his left shoulder._

_It was a row of teeth that connected to a jaw-_

  
  


**Back to the Present : 296. AC : Winterfell : Godswood.**

Starting suddenly, I realised Ghost had begun licking my face, bringing me out of my reliving and dark memories that these objects have brought me to.

Looking away from them, I look to my side at the piercing red eyes of my other half. I gently yet firmly scratch him behind his ears, tis’ his favourite and most loved spot to be scratched, and as such I get a content hum-like purr in return. Seeing his eyes close and his head settling snuggly against my lap and stomach once more, I lean back against the pale bark and begin to sing another prayer of Old. 

Reminiscent of our introduction.

It was on that very fateful day and incident Ghost’s Father had blessed the Starks with his presence, jumping in to save and rid both Bran and I from anymore of Theon’s torment. Hackles raised and fangs sharp. I had been conscious long enough to see Cosain bite into Theon’s shoulder, drag him some feet away from us and hold him down to the ground as Father, Arden, Lewos and the rest of the soldiers had come to our aid, which was only possible through Arya having run off to call for help. It seemed Bran and Arya had followed Theon when they found it suspicious he was walking in the direction of the Godswood not long after I had told them my being there. It seemed my little sister and brother had watched the entire incident unfold, and it was only when Theon had begun to stalk closer to me when Arya told Bran to stay put and help me (Weirwood bless them) when I needed it whilst she ran to find Father first and not the guards closest, as he would then judge from his own eyes. 

Tis’ was then their party arrived, I had unknowingly fallen into the deep abyss that silently called upon me, scaring not only Bran and Arya, but Father, Arden and Lewos, for they had not left my bedside or have left my doors unguarded since I had been ‘sleeping’, as Bran explained to me. Having jumped and crawled onto my bed with me, snuggling his head in between my neck, as did a surprisingly quiet Arya, who seemed content with holding and cuddling into my uninjured side that was not occupied by Father. 

Tightly.

Maester Luwin lovingly tended to me as a grandfather would have. The Maester had gone through the formality of explaining my injuries; I would not need any sutures to my face or neck as the wounds were minimal but the bruising would be significant, but to not worry about it as they would fade in the coming moon. None of my cuts festered, so I should be thankful. I did lose enough blood to be forced to drink and digest as much as I could stomach without bringing it back up again once I had awoken. Though, I would have to start with broths and soups as my neck had not been bruised externally as much as it had been internally. 

I would not hold any scars. 

Physically.

My face will heal and be fine as it was.

Maybe my prospect of marriage won’t be diminished. As much.

I was told I shall be able to sing to the Old Gods again in two moon turns, but I would be returning to my lessons with Arden and Lewos in a turn once my bruised side heals.

“It would be wiser and safer than to be sorry in the coming years, Alarra.” Maester Luwin moved a bowl of chicken broth with soaked bread into Rhoynar-ma's awaiting hands as Father moved to sit in the corner of my chambers, on a mock desk he had moved to continue to carry through his Lordly duties. 

Rhoynar-ma had been washing me down in my sleep, saying her prayers to the spirit of Nymeria, mother of the Rhoynar for the strength to wake and fight through my fever. She hand fed me all my food, though I tried fighting her on it, Ser Lewos had made sure I would.

“Come, Princess. You need all your strength for your lessons. Don’t fight Wylla on this, I want you to at least land a blow on me when you start our lessons again.” Lewos kissed my head twice, taking a deep breath. 

“You kicked his arse, Princess. Be proud, but not too proud.” That was the name he and Arden had always called me by. Tis’ never failed to make me feel . . . something, for when they spoke that word, they looked so serious, as though they meant it. 

He would then leave to guard the door after his words. Arden had silently come though my chambers door once finding out I had awoken not long after and cradled the sides of my head where it did not pain me as much, to then press a number of Fatherly kisses to my forehead. He stayed in such a posture for some moments and mumbled a prayer to the Gods of Old and Nymeria, before retiring into the seat that Father had abandoned. He sat pillowing my left hand in his overly large, calloused ones by a firm grip, running his thumbs soothingly over my bruised knuckles, though my left was not as swollen as my right. Looking upon his own knuckles I notice the familiar redness and bruising that painted my own. 

I remember wanting to ask about his hand when Rhoynar-ma shoves a spoonful of boiled, salted chicken into my open mouth and amusingly shakes her head, though she tries to hide it, but I know her far too well. More than any human in Westeros. Chewing on the piece of chicken, I look back to Arden and see the familiar look in his eyes also. He simply winks and crooks his mouth to the side in a tight grin.

“Tsk. No, talking Alarra. I want to be able to hear your beautiful voice once again when your throat heals.” Rhoynar-ma chides me, her rich Dornish accent was all medicine I needed, before another spoon makes its way to my mouth once more. 

Father had been sleeping with me at his breast and had not left despite me having come down with a fever three days into my sleep. I was told it had broken two days later and awoke me along with it, mumbling and grasping out in front of me in my drowse at the phantom beings in between a fight. 

_A battle fought in the thickest of snows and a fire screeched, swirling around me as if the Sun had fallen from the sky and decided today was the day to burn._

_Three beings with red piercing eyes, stalked their way through the thick snowfall that rained upon me, until the floating eyes stopped some ways away before the eyes began to grow or fly higher, higher and higher until they stared down upon me. Above their eyes, within the barely visible sky, I could hear the clapping of thunder, but there was no rain fall following it. Feeling a presence and breathing behind me, I whip around to come face to face with the largest Wolf I had ever set my eyes upon. Its eyes so yellow they glowed, yet oddly reminded me of Father’s and Arya’s and its fur the very colour of the blackest and darkest sky. It rubbed its head with my own forehead so tenderly. She longingly stared into my eyes and my very soul with . . . Love?_

_Before turning and nudging her nose on the ground, moving a pile of snow - a moving pile of snow. A red eyed, silent pile of snow. I lift it up to my breast and hold the pup dearly and close, before looking up to find the once large Wolf had disappeared and in its place sat five other noisy, yipping pups. I went to bend down and hold as many as I could in the safety of my arms, against the cold and snowy blizzard but far, far behind them stood the Black She-Wolf, and behind her, a Pack. The largest and fiercest Pack one could ever dream of. The snow suddenly stopped and from what my eye could see, Wolves surrounded the snow covered earth from furs of brown, black, and grey. But not white. Looking down at the pup in my hands it begins to howl, the others that sat on the floor clamouring my boot covered feet also begin to sing, and in turn the Pack sung a song as old as time._

_Eight millennia old._

_The earth felt as if twere moving and shifting due to the vibrations of their song and voices._

_As they sang, they were joined by more clapping of thunder from the sky - screeching that shook the core of my very soul. Before my eyes, three large winged creatures began to glide and sweep in a circular motion, leagues above my being, roaring. Singing. Singing with the Pack. Suddenly at once the flying creatures' roars were followed by strings and bursts of flames. Fire._

_Dragons._

_Yet. Dragons are dead._

_As quick as the thought came to me, the earth shook so much from an impact behind me my knees buckled but was stopped from falling forward onto the pups by being grabbed by the back of my tunic. Slowly finding my footing, I silently turn in my spot all the while I have noticed, the Pack, the Dragons have all fallen silent in the sky. As soon as I am face to face with the culprit, I am face to face with a snout that breathes such hot breath, the pup in my arms yips and purrs. The snout dips low and I am met with eyes the deepest burnt orange, it feels like . . . home. Love, again. Purring comes from the Red-Fire coloured Dragon as it nuzzles my crown as the Black She-Wolf had done and all I think or hear are words._

_“The Dragons are not dead. They live because of you my Vise-”_

_But before he finishes, I am called upon by a Wolf's howl, a Wolf that looks so similar to that of the one which had saved me and Bran in the Godswood. As it begins to run towards me, the Dragon in front of me rears back and opens its jaws. In the very back of its throat I begin to see the fire begin to rise, dropping the pup in my arms, I look behind the Red-Fire Dragon and see a clan of Dragons. Just like the Pack, but they stood and stared._

_Without thinking, I jump in front of the Protective Wolf as it continues to run to me and before I know it, I am bathed in fire._

Or tis’ was possible it could be Theon as it was explained to me by Father. 

“A fevered dream from the incident, Alarra. They may never pass soon but know my brave girl, he nor your dreams can harm you.” Father had stroked my hair and kissed my greased hair, before quietly singing a tune for the Green Children, not minding the three other beings within the room. Unknowingly to Father, however, I had seen the looks he was looked upon by Arden and Lewos as well as Rhoynar-ma. 

Father too, returns their grave looks.

_Did I speak in my sleep?_

After staying abed for five further days, I finally snapped out of my ever growing frustration after being only allowed out of my bed to relieve myself of my natural bodily calls. Father had finally moved out of my chambers, having been sleeping in a cot next to me for the entire duration of the week after I had woken up.

However, I was told that once Robb had found out what had actually happened from Arya, Bran and Father, Robb had unsheathed Ice (barely being able to) and tried running to the cells where the Squid was being held. Of course he did not get far, but he made it outside for all of the castle men and women to see. Though, he had somehow snuck in sometime after midnight and had confronted Greyjoy himself. All I know is that it was not a pleasant visit, for Robb had sprained his wrist which he had such honour and pride in showing me his bandaged appendage, whilst sitting with me on my bed. But because I knew him so, I could see the betrayal behind his smiles and the hurt of being stabbed in the back by someone he deemed a brother. 

What made matters more worse, was the fact it had been against me. 

“You are my sister, Alarra Snow. Even before we were both born. Forever my sister.”

Robb vowed that night to never ignore me ever again and to hopefully still have trust in him as her brother as I did before, even if I was faking my sleeping when he swore said vow. He even promised to sneak Maggy's infamous apple pie to me, if I could find it within myself to forgive him. Yet. There was nothing to forgive. 

Robb Stark has been, is and forever will be my brother. Mayhap's not in name, but by blood. 

Always.

However, what had shocked me the most out of my siblings was Sansa. The very image of what Lady Stark had looked like in her youth had snuck up to the Maester’s Tower, just to see Rhoynar-ma whilst she was attending to her other duties besides being with me. Rhoynar-Ma explained that young Sansa had sought her out whilst she was occupying one of Maester Luwin’s rooms (mixing her concoction for my hair, as per usual every five to six moons), asking of my health and the truth. It might be next to nothing in comparison to the affection Arya, Bran and Robb had shown me, but it was something.

Lady Stark, before knowing what had actually transpired in the Godswood, blamed me solely due to my Bastard status, tainted blood and even tried convincing Father to finally get rid of me, being echoed by Septa ‘Mundane’ Mordane. Lady Stark had made herself scarce after being proven she was wrong after Theon was made to confess publicly. On his knees. With Ser Rodrick and Jory holding him down to a chopping plank with Father holding Ice saying a prayer to the Old Gods, unsheathed. It was all an act thought by myself, Robb and Rhoynar-ma, obviously approved by an amused Arden and Lewos and reluctantly by Father. It was played to get Theon to confess publicly (in order to not anger the Iron Islander’s into another rebellion, without any proof) and confess he did. He even confessed to trying to spy on Lady Stark . . . The Lady of Winterfell had spent more time in her Sept than ever before, along with Septa ‘Mundane’, after that day. 

For once, I believe both Lady and Septa were praying for the downfall of House Greyjoy and not me for the first time in three and ten years.

The six and ten once surely and gloating Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands and over all git had sang a song so beautiful, loud, wet and weepingly, a bard in Wintertown (where the public ‘execution’ took place) had written a tunes about him before the sun had set.

‘ **Theon the Tinkler** ’; which was about its namesake and how ‘wetly’ the Greyjoy was. ‘ **A Wet Squid’s Surrender to Ice** ’; which was about Father and the sword. Then my favourite; ‘ **Return of the Direwolves** ’. The last was about my confession as to what had transpired within the Godswood, Arya and Bran, and the return of Direwolves to the Starks, South of the Wall for the first time after centuries. 

Though I secretly favoured the latter tune due the fact it spoke of me, Arya and Bran in the same standing, as ‘sisters and brother’.

‘Theon the Tinkler’ was sent South after his confession to King's Landing to become the King's Ward.

I had been walking with Rhoynar-ma, arm in arm around the corridors for the first time in a fortnight, building up my strength though I was quite sprite and agile after being told I could get out of my chambers, but tis’ was all credited to Rhoynar-ma and her undying stubbornness and love. She was all the mother I had and I could never complain or have wished for a better mother; whether it be true or surrogate. 

I had begun to feel . . . _that_ feeling once more. The one where it felt as though I was being called upon by an unknown force. So I began to drag Rhoynar-ma in addition, Arden and Lewos to the Godswoods, walking straight up to the opposite side of the opening where my mind was completely overcome with a sense of familiarity. 

“Who goes there? Why is it you call for me? What trickery have-” My questioning was cut off but the slow and calm walking of a male Direwolf. I heard the unsheathing of swords from behind me, but I waved my hands in a disarming manner.

“This Wolf is the one from my dreams. Rhoynar-ma this is what I saw!” Happiness and shock was felt by those who stood among me.

A large Direwolf as tall and muscled as a fully grown steed who would be bestowed the name Cosain, and had attached himself to Father, along with his pups that were each given to a Stark child and myself. 

Ghost had become my shadow and companion. 

He was the one that had been by my side when I had discovered . . . them. Not two nights past. 

  
  


**Two Nights Past : Crypts of Winterfell**

_I had had another fevered dream, calling and thrashing for beings that were just within my reach but just out of my grasp. When I came to, I had somehow made my way to the Crypts which held the Kings, Queens, Lords and Ladies of Old without scarily enough, troubling Arden or Lewos in my fevered state. Where were they? They should have been guarding my door, why hadn’t they stopped me. I looked around trying to find my way out but I could not. I remember the panic I had felt when I heard the familiar shouting and roars of those dead Starks buried around me._

_“You do not belong here-”_

_“Leave this place-”_

_“You are not wanted here-”_

_“You are NO STARK!”_

_“STOP!”_

_My screech had halted the shouts down to a whisper, Ghost now visible to my eye as I realised I had been holding a torch in my hand. Dropping it to the floor I fell also to the floor to hug Ghost to me for comfort; both his and mine._

_I bowed my head into his fur and began to sing a favoured fable of mine and Arya’s. When I had calmed myself down enough, I heard a soft voice._

_“Daughter of my blood, please gaze upon me?” The effeminate voice asked. Turning I am faced by a long faced woman, with hair of black as my own and eyes as grey and silver as Fathers._

_“Come child of my blood, walk with me.” I take her hand without hesitation in one of my own as Ghost ardently snuggles into my neck for my own comfort. The tall Lady (for she was almost the same height of Father), cradled my smaller hand within her own and walked me passed a statue that read:_

**_‘_ ** **_Alarra Stark, Daughter of Lord Alaric of House Stark and Eireann Stark of House Mormont._ **

**_True Daughter of the North.’_ **

_“How have I - how are you?-”_

_“Shhh, my Brave pup. All will reveal itself.”_

_Alarra Stark? My namesake? My namesake was gracefully guiding me to walk alongside her until she came to a halt not far from her own statued burial, to another. This one was a man, a Stark by the name of_ **_Walton Stark_ ** _._

 _Son of_ **_Brandon the Boastful_ ** _and older brother to_ **_Alaric Stark._ ** _Walton had been a short reigning Lord of Winterfell until his death in the form of Giants. Old Nan had said Walton Stark had slewed two giants before falling. Alaric Stark succeeded his older brother._

_“You know your history well, Brave pup. Did you know that Alys and Jae had come North to visit Winterfell. Father had brought Jae down here, to show uncle Walton’s statue in order for him to see just how much his mistake in letting mutineers’ live. Hurting not only Father, but the North. Jae had let the mutineers’ go without consequence, due to the amount of ‘death’s’ Maeger had caused, or something amongst those lines.”_

_Alys and Jae? Alys and Jae? Alys and Jae- Alysanne and Jaehaerys!?_

_My namesake had sighed an exasperated sigh with a shake of her head and mumbled something about children and a prayer to the Weirwood tree, and walked behind me and Ghost. Placing her hands on my shoulders in a comforting manner and brought into a motherly hug._

_“You may have heard of this story, but did you know Jae and Alys, in compensation for Walton's death and the mutineers’ un-punishment, presented Father with a gift? A gift so rare and precious that tis’ never been gifted to others outside of their own family and blood. Generation to generation, they are passed along and placed in their cribs as babes until they are old enough to- . . . well you shall soon see.”_

_With that, Alarra Stark moved to Walton’s seated statue where his tomb lay, which she also passed. I lost sight of her in the darkness, for all I heard was rustling and Lady Alarra blowing what I had hoped would be the large amount of dust. She returned carrying a chest, one that held no markings until it came closer to my sights. It held the sigil of-_

_“My Lady, please you must not take from the dead-” One arm trying to wave her back towards where she had collected the chest from._

_But a still smiling Lady Alarra Stark continued towards me and Ghost until she forced me to hold the chest, having to quickly deposit him on the floor. It was not heavy as it looked to be, but it held weight to it._

_“Love and look over them dearly, my Winged Pup. As one would do to a Direwolf or any other creature. You have my blessings as a Stark of Winterfell, daughter of our daughter. Princess of our Kings.” She laid a kiss upon crown and cheek._

_She continued to smile and tis’ was then I realised, she was so beautiful._

_Also, who lit the torches that lined the Crypts walls?_

  
  


**Back to the Present : Godswood**

Smiling warily upon my lap, I continue to stroke Ghosts large head. As my other hand unfolds back my cloak away from my lap, which covered what Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen had gifted my forefather, Alaric Stark. What Alaric Stark had given to Alarra Stark to hide. What Alarra Stark had hidden behind the statue of Walton Stark in the Crypts.

The first of the three was as grey as the eyes of Father and Arya though it shimmered silver like the Moons’ upon surface water. It reminded me of the stones that held up Winterfell, the shined steel of the swords and armour that Arden, Lewos and the rest of the soldiers for which guarded and protected its walls; in and outside. Though, its warmth first reminded me of brightness and light. Brightness of the Sun, mayhap's.

The second egg was that of a deep red, it reminded me of my own blood. Of the eyes that looked upon me now; Ghost and the bloody face of the Weirwood, along with its blood leaves that littered the floor surrounding the very floor I sat amongst.

Both Sun Grey and Deep Red gave me a sense of welcoming warmth. 

Home. The feeling of comfort that tugged within my chest, mayhap's my own heart.

The last egg, however, called to me. It was not a voice. There were no words spoken to me, it was just a feeling, a sense of warmness which doubled within and around the backs of my shoulders and neck. The tugging at my chest (or heart) would collapse and fall into flutters around the pit of my stomach (scaring me into thinking I was with child at first, but of course that could not happen . . . No?). This egg held the paleness and whiteness the exact same shade of ivory as Ghost, of the Snow surrounding me and Winterfell's outer grounds and Winter itself.

Three eggs that were so warm and welcoming to my touch, as I am to theirs.

These eggs have not been seen, let alone hatched in a century and half. 

_Yet, Weirwood please answer me this._

_Are the parchments of papers hidden underneath the hay of the trunk, about me?_

_Am I, Alarra Snow; the supposed base-born daughter and a never ending stain upon the Lord Paramount of the North, the largest and strongest Kingdoms, and its vast Vassals, not even that? Am I, Alarra Snow; the sole reason for Lady Catelyn Stark’s ire and disgust, not even worthy of the anger? Am I even the sister of Robb? Or Arya, Bran, baby Rickon? Or even Sansa? Am I truly who I think I may be?_

Is the name of Alarra Snow truly . . . _Visenya_? 

**// END OF PART 1 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cosain | Protect, Answer, Champion, Cost, Keep, Shield | pronounced: Coss-Sen.
> 
> Eireann | belonging to the Erainn; Erainn being the 2nd of the Celtic groups to come to Ireland | pronounced: ER-in
> 
> | 296: Ages of Stark Children & Direwolves |
> 
> Alarra | 15 — Ghost | 2.  
> Robb | 15 — Grey Wind | 2.  
> Sansa | 11 — Lady | 2.  
> Arya | 9 — Nymeria | 2.  
> Bran | 8 — Summer | 2.  
> Rickon | 4 — Shaddydog | 2.  
> Ned — Cosain | 6.
> 
> | Some Random Facts when Writing this Fic |  
> Did anyone know that 1 Human year is equivalent to 4 years and some months for Wolves?
> 
> Did you know a ‘hand’ is used (sometimes) when measuring height and it is equivalent to 4 inches? So in turn, I have made both Robb and Alarra 5’10 (feet’inches) and Ned 6’1 in height. I believe Brandon (Ned’s bro) was about 6’2/6’3 with Benjen being the tallest of around 6’4. 
> 
> I, for some reason, have this belief Lyarra (Rickard’s wife) had been quite a tall woman, despite having Arya Flint from the Mountain Clan as her Mother, as it is scientifically proven the more colder the climate someone is raised in, the shorter they are in height due to lack of thermoregulation? Right? However, back to the point which is I believe Rickard was of average height and was not that much taller than his cousin-wife, so I put Lyarra of about 5’10 and Rickard 5’11/6’0.
> 
> Robb gets his average height from his father and that is about as much physicality he gets from Ned in my opinion, as the rest is pretty much explained in the books and show to have gotten from his Tully genetics. Alarra gets her height from her Targaryen side, as Jon is explained to be a mirror image of a Stark or of Ned, I wanted Alarra to be the complete opposite. Alarra gets her height of her real Father, Rhaegar, and her paternal Grandmother, Rhaella.
> 
> Edited: 18th/Jan/21  
> 51 Kudos's!?!?!?
> 
> THANK YOU!!


	2. Chapter 1 : Part 2   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler one? Is that how you say it?
> 
> Yeah a filler one.
> 
> This is a chapter where Alarra comes to terms with herself and discovers truths that were hidden away from her and Westeros, if not the World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal_in_training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> I, Kishie8, hope you enjoy Part 2!
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**296\. AC : Winterfell : Bed Chambers : Alarra Snow.**

**_N_** ** _ame at Birth_** | _Visenya Alaerra Targaryen, of Houses Targaryen and Stark._

 ** _Father_** | _Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, of House Targaryen._

 ** _Mother_** | _Princess Lyanna Targaryen, of House Stark._

 ** _Place of Birth_** | _Tower of Joy, Red Mountains, Dorne._

 ** _Date of Birth_** | _. . . of the . . . Moon of the Year, 981 A.C._

 ** _Witness(es) of Birth_** | _Maester Arlo Sand, from House Dayne._

_Lady Wylla Sand, of House Nymeros Martelll._

_Paramount and Lord Eddard Stark, of House Stark._

_Lady Ashara Dayne, of House Dayne._

_Lady Maege Mormont, of House Mormont._

_Ser Arthur Dayne, of House Dayne._

_The babe, a girl born silver of hair and purple of eyes, was delivered by myself with the assistance of Wylla Sand and Ashara Dayne . . ._

Swapping hands, I look to my right to see the second document that lay within my feathered grasp, as if holding to firm it shall wither away and fade into nothingness. This document furthermore argued the claim to who I truly am.

**_H.R.H Prince Rhaegar, of House Targaryen and Lady Lyanna, of House_ ** _**Stark** , with both consent and willingness of each other and written consent of **H.R.H Princess Elia Targaryen of House Nymeros Martell, whose letter I shall attach also**. Both parties wedded on the Isle of Faces in faith of the Seven in front of Weirwood Tree. Respecting both faiths of both Groom and Bride . . ._

_The ceremony was performed and carried out by I, Septon . . . Willingly, as I am honour bound by my duty as both a Septon of the Faith and by the orders of the Crown Prince, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, son of ruling King Aerys._

_The harmonious ceremony was witnessed by Prince Rhaegar’s personal Kingsgaurd. **Ser’s Gerold Hightower** , **Arthur Dayne** , and **Oswell Whent**. _

_I, Septon . . . Hereby sign the third out of three and final copies of this document to be given to, upon an appropriate time, **Paramount and Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell** **and the Northern Kingdom**. If the stated person is in any circumstances not available due to illness or in the chance they are deceased, then it shall be passed to his heir. Though if by any other circumstances the heir is also not available due to illness or by the chance they are deceased, it shall only be **passed down to the current Lord or Lady of Winterfell, whose name was born Stark**._

_One copy shall be sent to the Citadel to be filed away and the second copy shall be given to H.R.H Prince Rhaegar, of House Targaryen._

_I disclose this document here._

Swapping over the enclosed letter that was behind the wedding certificate, the seal of the envelope already broken, I unfold the letter and read its contents.

_Dear Rhaegar, Lyanna and whomever it may concern,_

_I, **Elia Nymeros Targaryen of House Nymeros Martell** , respectful Princess of Dorne by birth and the Seven Kingdoms by marriage, write and enclose within this letter **my consent of the marriage union** between Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, my lawful husband, and Lady Lyanna Stark of House Stark, willingly and happily . . ._

_Another copy of this shall be sent to my brother, ruling Prince and Paramount of Dorne, Doran Nymeros Martel . . ._

Folding the papers and slipping them back underneath the hay of the Trunk that had geld its secret for six and ten years, I lean back up to gaze upon the Dragon eggs.

I am **not a Stark.**

I am **Targaryen**. . .

I am a **true-born** child . . .

I run my fingers over the scales of their shells and ponder.

I am . . . was **half-sister** to Princess **Rhaenys** and Prince **Aegon** **Targaryen** ; both far too young and innocent to meet the fates they were dealt with, as well as their Mother; **Princess Elia Nymeros Martelll**. A Princess whom the entirety of Westeros and mayhap’s Essos believed to have been shamed by the _willing_ actions of Rhaegar and Lyanna - my Father and Mother, if the wedding certificate I kept silently mulling over was anything, if not _everything_ , to go by. However, that was not the case. Princess Elia Nymeros Martelll had been aware of what had transpired between Lyanna and Rhaegar and had consented to it willingly, if not happily.

_Their fates and death were tied to my parent’s actions, which in turn, were tied to me._

_Their blood and death upon my hands._

Mother had run away. She had run away willingly from Winterfell and ran away with my _true_ Father, because they were in love. A love that cost hundreds upon thousands of deaths, casualties and deep-rooted hatred for the Targaryen’s.

_Hatred for the blood that runs through this body of mine._

In the end I know who my Mother is, but with an unfair swipe of the hand as if one were playing a game Cyvasse, I lost a Father in turn. The Cyvasse board was gifted to us by the Braavosi Banker, Tycho Nestoris who has visited a number of times over the years since Father began trading with Braavos and the Iron Bank.

_Yet, I have a Mother and Father . . . had a Mother and Father._

What also did not help were the dreams. Since my dream incident or whatever occurred when I had discovered the eggs, my dreams were becoming more real, filled with horror and love.

Death and life.

Past or future . . . ?

**Dreams in no Specific Order.**

_A golden Lioness tending to her more so golden cubs whilst a Lion stands vigil over them from a far and seethes silently when a great, fat Stag of black and yellow walks to and fro from the pride._

_An old and grey but strong Falcon plunging to sudden death after a red Trout calls him into the waters. A small and silver Mockingbird comes and circles around the flaying Trout before he grasps and flies high into the skies, before dropping it too and dies. The mockingbird nests over a baby Falcon._

_Kraken’s begin to surface the waters before being ripped from the waters themselves by a large, pale Dragon, grey Dragon and Red dragon and are burnt to crisp on a field of fighting men and women, before throwing it back, sinking deep into the waters._

_A pit of Snakes and a Viper stalk a great, dark mane Lion and a forever moving Mountain._

_A great, fat Stag of black and yellow trudges uphill through the land of Snow with a pride of Lions and Lionesses along with him, where Cosain awaits with Grey-Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, Shaggydog, yet I could not see Ghost among his siblings._

**Back to the Present.**

There were so many dreams that passed through my mind, I could not stay ahead.

Sighing, I lift the eggs out of the trunk which I then shut and slide back under my bed, I cradle the eggs to my chest within both my arms. I crawl back up the bed and sit against the wooden, carved headboard. Running my fingers over all three eggs equally after placing them in front of crossed legs, trying not to show Winter Egg more attention than Blood Red and Sun Grey. With every stroke of my fingertips, they passed through me approval and happiness, a feeling that I could only compare to that of when Arya, Bran, baby Rickon - and even Sansa - had shown when they were babes.

I saw Ghosts head pop up from the far corners of my eye and felt his eyes curiously peek from where he had been laying by the hearth on his handmade bed-pillow, by my own hands.

_Though he never slept on the thing._

No. This Direwolf preferred the softness and warmth that radiated from the bed and the body in which lay within its sheets. My body. I timelessly awoke at odd hours of the night and early morns to feel the weight of a two-name days old Direwolf sleeping across my chest. Ghost has grown as tall as what Cosain had been two years past, which was taller than what my height was two years past. Now, Ghost's head came just above my own head as I too have grown taller, almost without me knowing so if it weren't for Arden and Lewos pointing it out, followed by Father and Robb when we went out hunting one noon.

Me and Robb were both of the same height - much to his rankling - whilst we were both a hand shorter than Father, who stood an inch over six feet. I remember as young children, no older than five years old, me and Robb had haggard down Father to get measured by Maester Luwin.

_How life had been so much simpler then than tis’ now . . ._

Continuing to idly stroke my fingers, I carefully make my way off the bed and towards my window and open it slightly, then to the opposite direction where my [**Lute**](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Mac-Fuirmidh_cittern) stood against my dresser. Seated again against the headboard, I closed my eyes, cleared my thoughts and reached within myself and then outwards, just as I had practiced the eve before and the eve before that. When I feel the familiar acceptance of four beings, I caress the eggs once more and Ghosts’ head as he has now made home cocooning his large mass around the eggs and myself, his head resting upon my left lap. I lean my head back facing skyward, resting it against the wood. After a breath or two I clear my throat, letting my soul take over the actions of my fingers.

[ **_High_ ** ](https://gameofthrones.fandom.com/wiki/Jenny_of_Oldstones) _in the halls of the kings who are gone_

[ **_Jenny_ ** ](https://soundcloud.com/florence-the-machine/jenny-of-oldstones-game-of) _would dance with her ghosts_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most_

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long_

_She couldn't remember their names_

_They spun her around on the damp_ [ _old stones_ ](https://gameofthrones.fandom.com/wiki/Oldstones)

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain_

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_They danced through the day and into the night_

_Through the snow that swept through the hall_

_From winter to summer then winter again_

_Til’ the walls did crumble and fall_

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most-_

Shooting up and cutting off on the final word, I sensed someone making their way to the chambers and quickly grabbed for the eggs, practically throwing my Lute to the bed.

Clutching the three softly, I kneel (fall) to the floor and pull out the trunk from whence I had hidden it. Once I open the hatch, I placed them as they had been when I first laid my eyes upon them.

Sun Grey - Winter Egg - Blood Red.

Just as I closed the latch the door to my bed chambers began to open. Shooting up to my full height, I both shove the trunk underneath the bed with my foot and ask Ghost to trot to Rhoynar-Ma and Ser Lewos, and he does so loyally, to distract them for the short seconds I needed to smarten the bed sheets over the sides of the bed, seeming as though I had abruptly began tidying after singing. Knowing _they_ were hidden; I look up and the muscles upon my face easily slip into a soft smile . . . then it too slightly falls.

“Tsk, Alarra! Mother Nymeria - do you not feel the chill in your bones, girl?” The Dornish woman begins as she glides across my chambers to the window, I had purposely opened so the those down below could at the very least be entertained as they go about their nightly duties, as it seemed tis’ was time to sup if the amount of melted candle wax was to go by.

“So? Anything to say for yourself?” The glare of _this_ Dornish woman was something I still shiver under. Or over, as I was a full head taller than Rhoynar-Ma now. Looking to where Ser Lewos stood and seeing an amused and smirking Knight in his place, I huff and turn back to Rhoynar-ma.

“Wha - Rhoyn-ma I do not chill as quick as others, you know this, personally even, as was it not you who realised this gift of mine when I was a mere babe? I have the North running through these veins of mine, sweet Rhoyn-ma, fret not dear one,” walking to where she stood by the hearth.

_The blood of the Dragons also runs through this body, but you know that already do you not my forever defender._

Kissing her forehead, I stare into her eyes and pause.

_She had known who I was even before I was pushed into this World. She knew my Mother and Father, even if it ‘twere mere moons. Wylla Sand has helped bring me into this world and has loved me unconditionally ever since._

“Alarra? Are you alright, my child?” Wylla goes to move her hand but I lightly pull her into an embrace and rest my head upon her own, breathing the scent of fresh soap and spice.

Home.

“Princess? Are you alright?” Now seeing the familiar worry lines of Lewos. Or better known as Oswell Whent, a Ser and Knight of the Kingsgaurd, but took upon the alias of ‘Lewos’ when he travelled Northwards with his Brother-in-arms in order to continue his duty in protecting and guarding the daughter of his former Prince and King.

_Princess. I thought twere a term of endearment after all these years, yet it had been my true title._

“I am hail, Ser Lewos, do not start fretting also,” I jape. “I do not think I can handle two Mother Hens clucking over me, or _up to me_ in your case Rhoyn-ma - hey! There was no need for that!” I gasp in surprise, despite seeing the hand before it made contact with the back of my head.

“Why I never,” I animatedly profess. My hands against my heart and taking a step away from her, my face hopefully expressing one of comical shock.

Wylla Sand took no teasing for anybody, even me, but the two other humans in the chamber with her could tell she was trying not to laugh out loud. Rhoynar-ma had her hand tilted palm up with her fingers all pressed together and her thumb tucked in, tis’ was her signature ‘I will berate you and your entire existence’ action.

“Now you look here - bphf! - stop looking at me with that expression, ‘Larra! Tis’ not helping me concentrate on my w-vords - ppff!” She declares, all the while trying so badly to hide her laughter, as I continued to model shocked and horrified ‘Southern Lady etiquette’ facial expressions. I remember Lady Stark teaching Sansa and Arya said lessons and being utterly confused, until my little Wildling, Arya herself modeled to me what she had been taught.

Tis’ was something I only did with Rhoynar-ma, Lewos and Arden in private.

Lewos had actually turned as red as the infamous Whent hair he was sired with (if he did not dye it black), as Lady Stark’s mother was also of the Whent family and she had extremely red hair, as did all of her children except for one.

_Yet, they are not my siblings . . ._

My thoughts begin to take me, as I stand there transfixed at the fire behind Rhoynar-ma.

_‘You are my kin and of my blood, Alarra,’ Father would always speak to me when I would beg him whom my Mother was, and now I have three documents and three eggs that have solidified finally why. Why the man I called Father had always rarely called me his daughter, and his reasoning was not out of shame, but out of protection. Tis’ had always been ‘kin’ when he spoke in relation to himself or to me and Robb._

_Now it could not be clearer as to why._

_The Stark children were my cousins . . ._

_The eggs must be placed within the-_

Feeling a licking upon my cheek, I see Ghost gazing upon with a worrisome gaze as much as a Direwolf could. Realising I was once again being cocooned into the small body of my Rhoynar-ma as she mumbles words of comfort and seeks my reason why I do not tell them what was troubling me, for they knew I was troubled no matter how well I hid the reason _why_ I was troubled. I realised I had gotten carried away in my thoughts that even Ser Oswell ‘Lewos Rivers’ Whent had moved away from my chambers door and placed his hand upon my shoulder.

“Princess, what is troubling you? Has someone done something untoward you? We have noticed since ‘that night’ you have been burdened, and do not lie to us, we are but worried for your health.”

‘That night’ being a fortnight ago now, when I dreamt of Alarra Stark, though they did not know of such. All they knew was I had walked to the Kitchen's to quench my thirst, for I told them so. 

I had snuck out of my chamber windows at the hour of the Wolf, and retrieved the trunk and its contents.

The Riverland-born Knight expresses the emotions of a worried Father and I believed him and Wylla intentions were pure and good, but I feared that once I told them my reason . . . my life as I knew it and those around me . . . Tis’ shall all change. No longer will I be Alarra Snow; natural-born daughter of the Warden of the North, but his secret niece of an even secret marriage between his only sister and the former Crown Prince of the Realm.

_War was sure to ensue . . . If I did not place the eggs-_

Softly smiling through my tormented thoughts, I embrace both persons into my own.

“Tis’ just my dreams that have become more . . . I promise as the child you have seen grow, I promise I shall tell you, but not before even I have an understanding over them and my emotions. Please?” I tried my best to smile more brightly, yet before they could question me more on the subject I spin as good as any swordsman dances away from a strike and beckon both humans and Direwolf out of my chambers. Tis’ time to sup. The looks passed between Wylla and Lewos, I felt nausea from my mouth to the pit of my stomach.

As I and Rhoyn-ma walked arm in arm and Ghost loyally walked on my other side, we saw him run to greet his siblings who were all but waiting for their nightly hunts within the Wolfswood for their own supper. Upon being waved to by Kennel Master Farlen, we spoke for a short moment and I found out that the Direwolves were becoming far too big for their sleeping enclosures, as they were all on their way to becoming as large as full bred steeds if Cosain was to be used as measurement, with him being older he was now taller than Father, about a hand taller. Master Farlen explained he would have to have words with Father about maybe building a separate enclosure just for the Wolves, or to finally have him persuade Lady Stark to let the children keep the Wolves with us within our chambers, which most likely or not will never happen, but he made me promise I would have a word with Father about it all and I promised I would.

Then walking towards the pack and after some _very_ affectionate licks and rubs on their bellies they were on their merry ways, with not surprisingly, Nymeria and Shaggydog racing headfirst, Summer and Grey-Wind running after them and Cosain of course already waiting for his children by the Wolfswood, having probably scouted the closer surroundings for prey and predator. Ghost kept watch over his siblings from behind and blended in with his surroundings until he got closer to his Father, receiving an affectionate rub and lick from Cosain, turning to disappear.

Turning from the Hunter’s Gate, I washed my hands and face clean at the water well that stood in the middle of the Castle as Wylla and Lewos escorted me to the high table whilst they moved to the lower.

**296\. AC : Winterfell : Alarra’s Chamber**

After bringing up the Direwolf issue at supper, Father agreed to escort me to my chambers and on the way, we would speak about their living conditions. Despite being polite and sensible about my approach, of course Lady Stark would pick _something_ to pick apart, but was interrupted by Robb and surprisingly Sansa, who were both for, for having the Direwolves with them in the chambers, which was backed by Arya, Bran and then an ever-wild Rickon who jumped out of his Mother’s lap and ran to my readily awaiting arms.

“‘Larra! ‘Larra! ‘Larra! We can let them all sleep in my chambers! ‘an then you can sing them lullabies as you do me! Right Bran and Arya? ‘an then we can . . .” The wild pup of the pack animatedly threw his arms around and his small chubby fingers cupping my face as if I were a fallen star, while I in return kissed his hands and held him closer within my embrace, seated in my lap. To then have Bran become envious of the coddling his younger brother was receiving and so the eight years old boy threw himself over the table and crawled to my side, all the while not only me but everyone reprimanding his actions, followed by Arya ‘she’s my big sister first stupid’ Stark who all but fell on top of my still seated head. Laughter emanated from Robb as Sansa looked longingly with love and guilt, but all I saw and felt was happiness. That was until I caught a glimpse of Lady Stark beginning to stand from her seat next to Father when Arya and Bran decided to break apart from my face but was readily stopped by Father.

Not long after everyone bid goodnight, I kissed Rickon, Bran and Arya goodnight, hugged Robb and then a surprising action made by Sansa was she hastily walked over to me and embraced me tightly.

“Goodnight, Alarra.” The red pup whispered before hastily walking away with Mundane behind her, sending me sharp glares.

_Weirwood, I loved my siblings . . . Cousins._

As me and Father were walking towards my chambers within the second floor of the Great Keep where my chambers rested and my families above mine, there would have been a peaceful silence if it weren’t for my thoughts.

He lied to protect me and his family.

_I am no daughter of his no matter how he brought me up, yet he raised me as such despite the reputation he got amongst his vassals. Though they did not particularly care about my status if the mere number of betrothals for my hand in marriage, I have been asked for. I don’t even want to know how many have passed through Father - Uncle - before they reached me, and it has only been getting worse and worse since the Theon incident._

“So? Speak your mind my child, your thoughts seem quite loud tonight. Tell me what it is you are thinking?” His question was so innocent.

_Believe me Father or Uncle, you do not want to know what thoughts travel this mind._

Arden trailed as silent as a Ghost if it twere not for the slight ‘clink’ sound made from his sword behind us, as Lewos and him had swapped shifts for the evening.

“Should I build a separate enclosure near the current Kennels by Hunter’s Gate for the Direwolves or let them stay within each separate chamber of my children, hmm?”

There were few times when the Warden of the North not only looked relaxed but was so. Tending to Ice in the Godswood, atop his steed on a hunt, his wife's embrace and finally with me. He was a busy man, and tis’ was easy to say that he had his ‘Lord face’ permanently on from the way those within the kitchens or Wintertown spoke of him, but we always believed it was to distance himself and others around him that were not family, for he always smiled and laughed when around his family . . .

_My Uncle's family . . ._

“Right. So, Fu-un-Father-”

_Bloody Weirwood, help me._

“-I believe that if we did build a separate enclosure or Kennel, whichever word you prefer, for the Direwolves to live or rest within, tis’ would not only be much more productive, but all around safe as tis’ is clear to see that the pups will grow much larger and taller for another two to four more years. Cosain has finally stopped growing from my talks with Master Farlen some moons past and some books and journals me and Maester Luwin have gone over from the Kings of Winter, Cosain now finally reaching the correct height for this sex and diet. Though more importantly, I also have gone over the numbers in my head whilst we ate; costs would roughly be no more than two hundred and thirty or less than a hundred dra-dra-egg-gold coins!-”

_For the love of all things North of the Neck!_

Trying to play off my stutter I exaggerate and animatedly move my arms a wide and all over the place to better ‘explain’ my idea.

“-which! Which the coin would be made up by the end of a _quarter_ _candle_ _burnt_ if the grain, produce, livestock and iron that we are selling and trading to and fro from both Dorne and Braavos, and let us not start about how fast and sort after Northern Rock is being sold over the past handful of years. Of course, we have the men, as there are more than two-thousand hail household soldiers within the Castle walls, then you have the _other_ six-thousand household soldiers surrounding its outer walls in stone-built encampments in all Winter Town, South Gate, Hunter’s Gate and North Gate. Which by the way, used to be eight thousand if you did not send the two-thousand to Moat Cailin to restore it for one of my younger - siblings. For who knows if Arya will marry before she becomes a Knight.” Seeing Fathers eyes crinkle in amusement.

Of course, having known I am a Targaryen for over a fortnight, I have been pouring over and going above and beyond on the Northern and the Riverland’s forces, but have only been able to make an estimated guess when it came to the Riverland's from the lack of texts within our Library.

“But to get back on to the point, we shall roughly need two smiths for the metal work and maybe less than ten strong hands to help build, though I already have six in mind whom I can vouch for to be willing to build the Wolves' Kennel. Their pay would be docked at four gold coins every candle burn of work, which would be an estimation of one coin per inch of a candle, meaning eight gold coins for _two_ candle burns, all within a day's worth of work. Of course, luncheon will not be paid, but I can pay the hands myself from my own coin-”

“-and what coin have you been making, young lady?” Father questioned, an amused look completely encompassing his face, knowing fully well where and how I make any of my coins.

“Well, to answer your question, my Lord,” I mockingly courtesy, stand shoulders pulled back and all the while softly laughing. “It has been from my hunts with Ser’s Arden and Lewos, Ghost, sometimes Arya but I let her take some coin despite not being the one to have let go of the killing arrow. _Or_ when Maege would come to visit over the past two years. Whenever I take down Bucks, Foxes, wild Wolves - though I do not like to kill wolves as I feel tis’ a bad omen - and Ferrets. I have killed far more Bucks and Ferrets than any other animal so far. I skin and clean them myself, leaving the guts and not-so-desired meats for the rest of the forest animals to feed upon or I save them too, to use as bait for fishing. I sell the meat to the Kitchens or Wintertown inns, furs I sell off or trade and more often than not the antlers are sought out for wall mounts or small daggers even. Of course, all for a fair price and not to be obtuse about the amount offered, as people are not all made of coin. I tend to give the Direwolves the leg bones - as they all seem to have a love for them, no matter the animal; large or small. Good, clean and tended furs are hard to come by, so are lean and big Bucks as I only take down those that are larger and older than most Bucks, rather than younger ones.”

Just as I finish, we arrive at my chamber’s doors.

Father turns to me and places his hands upon my shoulders, slightly dropping his head lower to come eye-to-eye with my own. He wore this expression of proudness, ease and fatherly love that anyone from beyond the Wall to Dorne could name, and though he never admitted it, it was always if not often directed towards me or Arya. I knew a parent - _or uncle_ \- is not supposed to pick favourites, but it had been me he doted on the most due to the lack of love shown from Lady Stark, and by the time Arya came along that favouritism had been split and shared equally between me and my Wildling sister.

“I . . .” Father began to speak but stopped shortly after the worst word, and not mere seconds after his expression turned to one of nostalgia and pensive sadness. I now understood why I was Father’s first favourite, tis’ was because I reminded him of two people; one he loved dearly and undeniably and the other he scorned and despised for taking the one Father held dear to his heart, before she too was snatched away by Death, just like his Mother, Father and Brother. I understood that _Father_ understood, without neither, I would not have brought it to his life, a life in which he had treated me fairly, lovingly and strongly as any daughter of his would be. Shared his food, drink and warmth and taught me all he could have from the life lessons he had been dealt with, with honour, dignity and fairness.

Most importantly, I was of the same age as Lyanna had been when she ran off with Rhaegar and started a Rebellion that could have been stopped if they had come forth about it, especially if Princess Elia had consented to it.

“You know I love you, Alarra. I could not be any prouder of the Lady standing in front of me today than ever. Always remember you are of my blood." He kisses my brow and embraces me. I held him tighter than usual for I feared this may be the last time I ever did as Alarra Snow, or ever.

"I will have Luwin draft the Kennel’s-” but I cut Father off.

“-Do not worry about Maester Luwin, I will go to him after my morning training and begin to draw ideas along with him. I’m sure he will appreciate it with Ghost being there to be used for measurements.”

Father kisses my forehead and gruffly chuckles. As we parted with Goodnight, I stopped him once he was some steps away after remembering what he had said.

“Oh, and Father,” I lightly spoke.

He turns and looks at me with intrigue and adoration. “Yes, Alarra?”

“I am no Lady, Father.” I see his face contort to one of confusion, so I explained further.

“You called me ‘Lady’, Father.”

_Maybe, just maybe, Father will understand the meaning behind my words. The hidden truth. I would not have to confess about my vivid dreams, dead namesakes guiding one to a trunk of pre-historic Dragon eggs - which Bloody Weirwood communicated to me through feelings, and most of all . . . that I know the real truth._

Father looked shocked and again that sadness washed over his face. I believe he understands to an extent raising me as his Bastard has been . . . difficult to say the least, as I had never outright said it to him before.

“Not a Lady, Father. Just . . . me.” The ‘me’ was said with a slight firmness. 

Seeing he did not understand, I lightly shake my head and smile. I bid him and Arden Goodnight, giving Arden an embrace as I have always done with both him and Lewos and closing my door, leaving Father to stare at where I had been standing and Arden to stare directly at him with a frown. Father left after Arden told him so and that was all I had heard from outside my door.

I went about adding more logs to my fireplace, as it seemed Rhoynar-ma had come in and added some not long ago, so hopefully they will burn throughout the night, not that I felt it. Ghost had already come back from his hunt and had made his way back to my chambers quite recently if the wet paw prints on my floor had yet to dry. I grab a clean cloth and dampen it, going over to Ghost by the hearth and cleaning the fur surrounding his mouth, nose and neck, loyally sitting and letting me run the cloth over his furs and paws.

Finishing my nightly habits and changing into my night shift, I settle into bed after checking on the trunk and the eggs within.

The eggs lay innocently but reached out to me instantly, of course not physically.

_A fire does not burn a Dragon . . ._

_Place them in the fire . . ._

Pushing aside such thoughts, I close the trunk and settle into my bed. I try to sleep but sleep wouldn’t take me as my thoughts roamed and flowed.

Though I may not favour my Mother in looks as much as I do my Father, I have stared at her statue within the Crypts for many years now and they only share small similarities. One being my brow; as mine, Arya’s and Father’s brow were all the same shade and shape and lips, which were fuller and thicker like Arya’s. That was where all similarities stopped. My jaw was sharp and angular, my cheeks having lost their chubbiness due to my extensive sword and bow training each morn had turned sharper than Father’s, as well as the fact they sat higher and closer to my eyes than what was reflected upon Arya’s face. My chin was smaller in width and pointier than Arya’s, whose was wider and longer mirroring her Father’s.

_Oh, my hair I should have noticed or questioned it sooner._

Noticing that the oils which Rhoynar-ma had been using upon my hair every six to seven moon turns was in actuality hair dye under guise of ‘nourishing’ my hair, my hair being the same exact dye of both Arden and Lewos. They too must use upon their own heads the same dye as I have noticed through the years, them being given small sachets of it when Rhoynar-ma would spend some of her free time with me. If my hair was like my Mother’s it would not have any need for dye as it would easily be concealed by my ‘Stark blood’, which only meant my hair was again, like my Father’s; pale and white. My hair fell in ringlets which is the baneful envy of Sansa, as they dropped in perfectly thick curly ringlets without any assistance or further teasing. No one North of the Neck had curls or ringlets for their natural hair. No.

Northern hair (with the exception of my Tully looking cousins) was straight or wavy and that was it.

Rhoynish hair was curly.

Rhoynar-ma has always commented here and there that my hair was far too Rhoynar to be anything else, even going as far to say that I must be Queen Nymeria reborn when commenting upon my sword-wielding, also.

Finally, then came my eyes which were the easiest to tell, even though I should have had some inkling. They were of shapes that were not like Arya’s, which in comparison to my own were larger and rounder, where mine were upturned and cutting, almost cat-like, and just by looking at my eyes colouring you would know. I either inherited them from the Dyane’s, if the old rumours about Lady Ashara Dayne were to be taken into account, but if by looking at ‘Arden’s’ eyes, his were darker and much more Indigo or dark bluer than my own, though they were still purple. Or they could be from Velaryon blood, as they were written to have the same trade white, silver/golden hair and purple eyes, but there had been no Velaryon daughters of age or even old enough at the time of the Rebellion to have mothered a child.

Not remembering why Arden had once, and _only once_ , spoken to me vaguely about how Monford Velaryon, then heir of Driftmark and the High Tides now its Lord, had sometimes been mistaken for Prince Rhaegar or a second son of Aerys and Rhaella when they were younger because of how alike they looked. Arden spoke the only way to tell them apart was by their house colours which both wore proudly, as Monford had been tall for his age as he had been five years the Dragon’s Prince’s junior. He oddly admitted that Monford had one sister who was born 12 years his junior, meaning she had been born 276 A.C.

Five years _my_ elder.

**286\. AC : Winterfell : Godswood**

_Laying within the Weirwood roots, I turn in the arms that held me warmly and Fatherly, as Father held me so as well if I had a bad dream or Lady Stark wanted my presence elsewhere._

_“Ser-” I begin._

_“Tch. What have I said about calling me Ser, little Princess? Hm?” He lightly rocks me lightly within his arms. Ser – Lewos stood not far where we lay as he walked along the ponds edge smiling._

_Feeling shy, I burrow my head under his arm and reply._

_“You tol’ me to call you Ser in the pres-pres – in front of people. In front of Lords and Ladies that come to visit, yet Maege always tells me to call her just that, Maege. And not Lady Mormont.” My words muffled at first_

_before poking my head back out when speaking about Maege._

_“Indeed, tis’ what I spoke. The word is ‘presence’ little Princess, and the reason why Maege tells you to call her ‘Maege’ is because-“_

_“’ **Maege is not a Lady!** ’” We both spoke together, laughing and giggling after._

_We go silent again, sitting up this time and pull, or try to pull, Arden up with me. Once seated upon the pale roots, I lean against Arden once more._

_“S-“_

_“-Ar . . .”_

_“Arden! Old Gods. Arden, there I’ve said it, right. What was I going to ask . . .? Of course! Right Arden. You spoke of the Dragon Prince, Rhaegar and Sea-Horse Heir of the Waves, Monford, yet how is it you know of how they looked – or how other’s thought they looked alike? . . . Arden?”_

_Turning I look up to Arden and see him look . . . not how he looked at me. He looked sad._

_Before I could ask him why, he quickly smiled and jumped up, before picking and throwing me over his shoulder whilst Lewos laughed along._

_If calling them ‘Ser’s’ made them look sad, then I will never call them so when not in the . . ._ Presence _of Lord and Ladies._

_I hear Lewos begin to sing, so I began to sing along._

**296\. AC : Present Day : Alarra’s Chamber’s**

I couldn't have been no more than five name days . . .

_The abyss finally heeds my call and I slip away into the welcomed darkness_

**// END OF PART 2 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, I Kishie8 thank you firstly for reading my second chapter, and lastly for finishing it! 
> 
> If you would like to view some of my imagery for my story, click the "Father, Who Am I" series button to view them!
> 
> | Fun Facts When Writing this Chapter |
> 
> Originally and in Canon, Winterfell held 500 people within its walls. I've changed that to 2000.


	3. Chapter 1 : Part 3   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write to be completely honest.
> 
> Some sword wielding. 
> 
> The Pack bonding (both Stark's and Dire's).
> 
> The a lot of Sugar Honey Ice Tea hitting the fan, people!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal-in-training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones.
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**296\. AC : Winterfell : Courtyard : Alarra Snow.**

**T** he sword came arching down from the left to ‘finish’ me off, call me into submission and yield, but it was met with air as I swiftly spun low to stand once more to the left of Robb's person, bringing my own blunt steel flat-side-up towards Robb's weaker wrist. As predicted, he grunts and lightly gasps at the contact and vibrations he feels within his wrist (not the pain) loosening the grip that once held the hilt, leaving him with his right hand still attached to the sword. As I had practiced with Arden and Lewos I strongly and swiftly brought my sword with both hands on the hilt down upon his own steel as silent as Ghost, whilst he stood momentarily distracted trying to get a hold on his sword once more. Due to the fact he only hand one grip on his sword, the impact of my steel meeting _his_ sent his sword spinning mid air, and before he had a moment to comprehend his sword was not where it had once been held, I had spun low once more sweeping my left leg out, snagged his own leg from underneath him, making him land with an audible ‘humpff’, on to his back. 

I swiftly gripped his sword hilt in my left hand as it perfectly landed within my palm to then point it towards him, with my _own_ steel a few breaths away from the jugular of his neck.

Meaning a bloodier yet swifter death.

“Ready to finally yield now, Stark?” As this was the third time out of five today my steel sat breaths away from Robb’s neck. The first and fourth rounds had me with his sword pointed at my ribs or the back of my neck, yet I been standing in both circumstances, yet with Robb I had him on his knees in the second, third and now his back in fifth rounds.

Looking down upon him now, he wore a tired grin and a grin only accustomed to him, with his right hand out to be lifted up with, leaning atop of his left elbow.

“Aye Snow, I yield now,” he rasps. Moving the sword to my other hand, I go to pull him up but Grey-Wind deems his other half deserves to stay laying on the ground a little while longer, as Ghost’s grey Brother comes sauntering over and walks _over_ and _on top_ of Robb’s laying body to get his rubs, hugs and kisses from myself. 

Hearing the grunt of someone being used as a floor rug followed by mumbling. “You’re supposed to be my Wolf, Grey-Wind, not Alarra’s,” Robb says in exasperation and almost pitifully, followed by Grey-Wind’s mimicking whining then-turned-purrs as I rubbed his flank and back as he stands on his hind legs. His front legs rested upon my shoulders, his head firmly rubbing against my hair and tongue lolling out of his mouth making me giggle trying to dodge his tongue from licking my face. Grey-Wind stayed standing for a moment, his height greatly dwarfing me until he had had his fill from me of the day, finally agreeing his other half has had _his_ fill of being ignored by his Direwolf.

Me and Robb embraced and as I was about to compliment him on his sword arches we heard loud applause erupt from around us. Pulling away from my Brother’s - _Cousin’s_ \- embrace in shock, he laughed and smiled proudly and clapped among the rest of the Courtyard, yet it seemed the rest of Winterfell had deemed it the day of all days to grace us with their presence. The Wolves from within their now moon old Kennels came sprinting out in blurs of greys, browns and white, howling among the cheer. Ghost running straight towards me yipping and bouncing around me, (springily for an animal that stood at five feet and eight inches in height), before following his grey Brother’s actions and began to ferociously licking and whining against my head, making me squeal and giggle out loud and high, his tail audible whipping back and forth making me hug him closer. After rubbing him and his siblings in the same exciting notion, I turn slowly and carefully in a circle, trying to regain my composure by pressing my hair down and wiping the residue spit as Nymeria, Summer and Shaggydog had been a bit _more_ excited than their calmer counterparts. 

As I turn, I bow and clap along with those around me in gratitude and respect.

“Thank you, thank you . . . Thank your for your gratitude, yes Robb? But please, you must all go back to your duties. Lord and Lady Stark will not be pleased about your absences.” I see all the familiar people that worked within the castle’s walls, as I too talked and interacted with them daily if I could help it, as I treasured my moments with them. 

_“Building strong kinships, friendships and connections is good for your future, Princess, and always remember to be yourself. As if you are yourself and not another, people high and low will love you for you.”_ Lewos had spoken those words to me. 

_Tis’ must have been one of my earliest memories._

So as to not see them punished for their actions at my distraction, appreciative and untroubled as they made me feel, I try as I might to persuade them to their daily instructed roles, they in turn began to cheer more and clap louder.

_“Alarra!”_

_“Alarra!”_

_“Amazing, dear ‘Larra!”_

_“Not only does she sing beautifully, but she fights so!”_

_“Did yu’ see tha’ Dunal!?”_

_“He mus’ t’have been pullin’ back his strikes-”_

_“Shut up, Dunal!”_

_“Alarra, my dear! I will make you an apple pie! Right away!”_

_“Girls can fi’ just as good as boys, Mary, did you see that?!”_

_“No they can’t! She mus’ t’have cheated-”_

_“Shut up! No one asked you, Dunal! I was talking to Sara!”_

_“Alrigh’. Alrigh’. Ma’ can I go-”_

I had completely forgotten that mine and Robb's agreed ‘three rounds of sparring turned to five rounds of sparring’ would have meant by the time we finished, the Castle would be awake and bustling. Turing to Robb for help, he just looked . . . so proud and in turn I felt even more bashful and crimson in the face then I had been before, and would have hid my face behind my hands if it were not for the two swords that still occupied them. I felt my emotion getting to me until he pointedly looked over my shoulder and began to clap once more and ‘woo’ing’. Shaking my head, turning I see the entire family - _my entire family_ \- clapping, smiling and some even jumping in excitement and triumph. 

I could hear them as I drew closer to the balcony.

Sansa, though much more demure and reserved in her applause, had a grin that was not very Ladylike on her face with her hands joyfully clapping along with everyone else, that it slightly broke my heart. If it were not for Lady Stark’s teachings and Septa Mundane lessons, Sansa would have been closer and open towards to not just me, but to everyone else around her. Instead of confining her time on hypocritical tales of Knights, Maidens and the glory South of the Neck, she would see just how beautiful the North truly is and how loved she could be in return by its own people, instead of shunning them. 

Looking up at her now, she looked like any other Northerner (a red haired one at that) among its people.

“Congratulations, Sister!” She called.

_Oh my proper, Sister._

In response, as my emotions were not far from erupting through my mouth if it were opened, I drop into a courteous and practiced courtesy. 

Next was Bran. Jumping and trying to climb over the balconies frame, calling for me to catch him, if it were not for Lewos, coming from behind, pulling and sitting him upon the rail. The second male, red haired Stark began to throw and pump his hands in the air whilst he shouted and hooted. 

“That’s my sister! That’s my sister!-” Bran roared only to be cut off my Rickon who was held in Father’s - _Uncle’s_ \- arms.

“Hey! ‘Lar-ra is my sister too, Bran! No’ just yours’” He angrily protested after taking out his thumb from his mouth. Crossing his arms crossly and scowling with that Stark brow, pout in full effect at his big Brother. 

“Yeah, but I’ve known her longer, which mean she’s been my sister _longer_ and has _loved._ _Me._ _Longer_!” Before Bran could have predicted it, Rickon went for him; arms out and finger crooked inorder to pinch, scratch and more worse . . . grab. Once the third, red haired Starkson got his hands on you, you needed a slice of pie, sweets and coin to drag him off of you. 

Just ask Robb.

Father of course with the ease of only a Father of six can comprehend, saw this coming and promptly switched Rickon to his left arm and away from Bran, who was no reared back into Lewos’s chest (who also looked a bit afraid of the angry three name-days old toddler). Bran went to retort as did Father but was cut off by my ever loving and protective Wildling sister; Arya.

“Hey! Cut it out both of you. Alarra loves all of her Brothers equally, no matter how old you are or how longer you have known her. This is about Alarra, not you two.” Well I never . . . It seemed the entirety of _Wintefell_ had gone silent and looked shockingly at the adult, very reasonable and mature response that came from the ‘First of Alarra’s Shadows’, trying to make sense of it all.

_Oh, my ever Wildling Arya, please do not grow up before my very own eyes and ears._

_No, not just yet._

Arya, quickly realising everyone had gone quiet did something that _was_ predicted by her.

“But . . . the-last-one-to-make-it-to-’Larra-is-the-least-loved-siblin’!” She spoke so fast, Rhoynar-ma (who stood to her left) was still trying to catch up with what she had said, but it seemed our younger Brother’s had no trouble understanding, as they both bucked and bolted after Arya as she ran - no flew - down the balconies adjacent stairwell, with Bran swinging his leg over the stairs rail to slide down, which left baby Rickon to sit on the steps and rather adorably sit-shuffle-step down the steps on his bottom. All hearing the faint: “guh-guh-guh,” with every step his shuffled down on his toddler bottom. 

It seemed once again, the people that made Winterfell roared in applause, laughter and cheer. Cooks, cleaners, soldiers and all of those in between watched in happiness to see which Starkling got to me first. Yet, of course it would not be Arya, who was a step or two away from me, yet not close enough. 

No. 

It would be the eldest, red haired Starkson who would ruin it for our younger siblings, by coming up behind me, of course I heard the shift of clothing and dirt on the ground which was why I swiftly spun, knowing just what Robb was about to do. 

“No-!”

Not being able to stop him from grabbing me, he had his hold firmly around my middle and picked me up just as I spun, lifting me clean off of the ground. 

“I love Alarra more than you lot! She’s my sister first! First I tell you-!” He shouted, of course riling up Arya followed closely by Bran behind her. So as Robb began to spin us both, me hopelessly holding to Robbs shoulders, I saw Arya and Bran lung at us both. 

“No-!”

Sending all four of us straight into the dirt! Robb landing firmly on his back once more, me sprawled haphazardly over his stomach, Arya on top of me and Bran on her, with both Arya and Bran and pulling and pushing at each other laughingly to see who could lay upon my back properly. As Bran gave up quickly after it began, Arya snuggly hugged me from behind and lay her entire small body along side my own, with Bran bless him, across Arya’s body trying to kiss my cheek whilst trying get his hands around Arya who kept slapping them away the closer they came to me, or kept tucking her head into the isdes of my neck when Bran tried to snuggle into me. 

I looked away from those two see an upset baby Rickon standing mere steps away, with his bottom lip jutting out and clearly out of breath. He looked so dejected and lost, my heart felt as is it was being pulled from its confinements within my chest. I shuffled my right arm free where it was being held captive by Robb's and held it out to my toddler, Wildling, Brother.

“Quickly come on over my Wild-Rick, before they realise!” I laughingly wheeze out, when _someone's_ boney knee made contact with my gut. Rickon’s face animatedly bursts into a stretched and beaming smile, squealing and buckling before sprinting into my arm and ground, crawling into the safety of my arm to sit up snuggly into the corner of Robb's arm with my own wrapping around his small body and pulling him against my head and shoulder. 

Rickons’ small arms closing around my head and kissing me squarely on the cheek.

“Ha-ha! I got to ‘Larra b’fore you two’s.” Before turning and hugging my head more tightly against the side of his.

All I could do in return was smile and try to breathe air into my lungs.

Of course protests were followed by Robb, Arya and Bran, yet with Rickon feeling he had won, Rick smugly shook his head high nosed and eyes closed, to continue hugging my head and pressing kisses to any skin available from his hug on my head. All I could do was laugh and squeal when one of my many siblings tickled me in a certain spot.

That was until I felt something, or someone sit upon my bottom. Bran, Arya and then Rob fell quiet as the rest of Winterfell continued to cheer, mayhaps a bit louder, and when I could get my head turn to my left, I saw red hair and a very soft smile leaning over both Arya and Bran, followed by a soft and sweet voice.

“I think this will suit me fine, as of course I got to Alarra before Bran.” Innocent and hopeful eyes looked towards me.

Returning the smile just as softy and lovingly, I turn my head right to catch a glimpse of Bran.

“I think she may be right Bran,” was all I could croak before chaos, laughter and clapping ensued from the Pack, as well as the rest of Winterfell. 

Our furry companions were playfully, although more aggressively, wrestling and playing with each other just as we, their counterparts, were.

I basked in the laughter, chaos and love. Stupidly and hopefully wishing this was how I could live the rest of my life . . .

  
**296\. AC : The North : Wolfswood : Alarra**

Leaning over the thick fallen branch, I pull back my bow arm and nock the arrow in place on the string and patiently wait for the wild Boar that waddled to and fro to settle slightly. Eyes focused solely on my target and where exactly I wanted the arrow to puncture, meaning a swifter and humane death for the Boar. 

Oswell was kneeled next to me, with an arrow also at the ready in case I missed though that had not happened for some years now. 

Arden standing behind us some paces away keeping look as he always does, claiming he was too well practiced in archery.

As we waited my thoughts began to carry themselves . . .

I could smile, laugh and love my family as much as I wanted to, yet the burning. 

_The growing pains within my bones._

_The dreams._

_Their voices . . ._

It started to become unbearable.

_As if three young children were crying out for their Mother. It was beginning to become harder and harder to leave them to lay within their Trunk, let alone letting them go from my hands. Was this how it shall be? I hear voices within my own head of both mascuiline and femine, convincing and convincing and convincing me, wearing down my rational thoughts and leaving me to contemplate if they were real or had I gone mad? For it was possible as many Targaryen’s were said to be either sane or mad, but the voices only became known to myself once the eggs were discovered._

_Voices trying to convince me to throw my eggs within the fire and to not let them go once basked within the flames!_

_The eggs may burn and turn to ashes! Their lives destroyed . . . I could not fathom it. I couldn’t._

I had to convince Father I was not with child was still, and happily so, a maiden. I had not lain with another nor do I have ‘eyes’, as Arden calls it, for another. All the while my face burning in embarrassment and shame as Rhoynar-ma, Arden and Lewos also stood in the Father’s solar.

I complained it must be a passing flu of sorts. Then after being looked upon by both Rhoynar-ma and Maester Luwin, Rhoynar-ma being rather thorough in her examination, muttered about asking a Viper of his expertise.

Arya the most perceptive one out of her siblings could see I was hiding something. It may not have taken my Wildling Sister the entirety of the three moons since I had discovered the eggs, she has known since the building of the Wolves Kennels that something was worrying me. I could see from our mirrored dark brow, it would crease and scrunch whenever I could sense them calling for me. Ghost would swiftly rub against or lick me, as if he too could feel my longing to be in their presence, just I as I do when Ghost is not within my Chamber’s, having not returned from his hunt with the his own Pack. Whenever I could see Arya was breath away from trying to question me on my odd behaviour I would immediately make an excuse, grab and tickle her, abruptly ask if she would like to be taught new ways of sword-wielding (having to be careful of Lady Stark and Septa Mundane) or just walking away to speak to another. 

However, I had only used the last option once and it was to have a word with Bran about his climbing after Lady Stark spoke to Sansa, who in turn asked Bran to stop, who then in turn told me sullenly, for me to then sadly yet firmly agree that Lady Stark was right. If he fell from such heights and seriously harms himself, or Old Gods forbid dies, where would his future of becoming a Knight lead him? What would happen to his family? 

_“You did not need to prove yourself to Father of any other person, as long as you are safe and happy. You have yet to grow my Second Shadow. At least grow taller than I before you return to giving your Lady Mother heart failures, and Father.”_

_“Thanks, 'Larra. I never really thought of it . . . like that.”_

_After the talk, it seemed Bran had opened a third eye to reality. He now spent most of his time practicing Houses, numbers and his bow arm these days, though thats not to say he stopped climbing all together. Only trees’ and the roofs of stalls were what he climbed now, not scaling the walls of the Broken Tower or jumping roof to roof._

_Nevertheless he too, after a small chat with ‘someone’ - Arya - came to me one day, finding me in the Butcher Gendal’s stall near the Kitchen’s back as I finished up cleaning down a Buck I had just skinned and gutted. I instantly saw the same look of worry in mouth rather then his brow like Arya’s and my own._

_Bran had, however, succeeded in asking me if something were worrying me-_

“Hhuuu!” Gasping inwardly so loud that I felt Lewos bodily flinch, my arrow flying from where I had had it nocked to some place far from us. A pain so sharp ripped through and burst through my chest. The pain so unforgiving I visually saw my entire body spasm and convulse rather than felt it. I fell hard on to my back as I failed to stand up as another clap of thunderous pain ripped through me, this time coming form my mind. I hit, pounded and clawed at y clothes chest, trying to stop or do something for the pain I was receiving.

“Princess? Prin - Alarra! Alarra?! ALARRA!? Arthur! ARTHUR! GET THE FUCK HERE! Something’s happened to ALARRA!” Feeling Lewos grabbing a hold of my body and began to immediately sit me up, but stopped instantly when I began to screech out in pain.

_. . . Pain-pain-pain-pain_

I was so far gone into the pain, I did not know if it were my head or chest . . .

_. . . Pain-pain-pain-pain_

Opening my eyes, whimpering and biting my lip to stop my screams as best as I possibly could, I see I am being cradled into Arthur with whatever - no - the horse underneath us, forcing us to bump and move vigorously. 

“Alarra! Listen to me - keep your eyes open for me-!”

“Arrrrrgghh!” Palming and harshly grabbing at the hairs of my head, chest or Arthur.

_. . . Pain-pain-pain-pain_

_Please stop._

“Alarra - Oswell gallop faster and get Luwin and Wylla!” Arthur holding my head into the crook of his neck.

_I’m going to die. I am going to die._

_. . . Pain-pain-pain-pain_

“No! What if she convulses again? She needs me close-”

“-Lew-”

“AAARRGH! GURRUAGH! HELP - help - Art - AARRGH-!”

_I am going to die. I am going to die._

That was all I could comprehend before my world turned bright and white. The muffled noises surrounding myself carry me towards the abyss, sweeping me away within its embrace . . .

_. . . Pain-pain-pain-pain . . ._

**296 : Winterfell : Outside Alarra’s Chamber’s : Eddard**

_What has happened to her?_

_Had she been injured during her hunt?_

_Why hasn’t Luwin left her chambers?_

_What is wrong with my girl?_

_Lya’ forgive . . ._

I had been with the Cassel Brother; Martyn and Rodrik, Maege Mormont (who had ridden hard and fast towards Winterfell), with her daughter Dacey unexpectedly from Bear Island. They relented that the reason they did not send word ahead was due to the fact once Maege finished reading the letter, both Mother and Daughter armed themselves, jumped on the first boat heading to Sea Dragon Point, and made haste to Winterfell. Though Dacey did not know the details of what transpired within the Red Mountains, she did not question her Mother’s concern over Alarra's well being, trusting her instincts. 

They had received a cryptic missive from Howland, which they had turned over to me.

_“Maggy,”_ his old friend had written.

_“It is time. It is time the girl babe we took with us, held to our breast on horse top and guarded over on our journey back North with her departed Mother._

_It is time the babe burns away her facade of what was once Snow and arise for their ashes as Fire._

_Alarra must become Visenya._

_Let her burn with the ashes of broken shells and be reborn to the sounds of new born cries._

_She will not survive if she does not._

_Fire and Ice must be in balance._

_The need to howl and spread wings._

_The time is now.”_

Maege had said she had received four missives three days before she received Howland's, handing over parchments from Willam Dustin, Theo Wull, Mark Ryswell and Ethan Glover. All four old friends, good trusted men writing and detailing in depth of Howland having written them about Alarra in the same detail. All four men wrote that they would be making their way to Winterfell once their affairs were set.

That had been two days past . . .

_They shall be arriving later today if not tomorrow. I will inform Cat to prepare appropriate chambers for the four men and their hosts._

Martyn, Rodrik, Maege and myself had been going over the safety of Alarra’s well being and that maybe it would be best to finally heed Maege’s offer to foster Alarra to Bear Island. W had been going over the details when Oswell had burst through my solar doors . . .

**Some Hours Before : Lord of Winterfell’s Solar**

_“NED!” The Riverland Kingsguard screamed. Nearly taking the hinges off of the double-doors when he bodily flew through the door._

_I and the Cassel’s both going for our swords, with Maege going for her spiked mace until we heard what the worried, if not scared, former Kingsguard said._

_“Alarra has sick. She suddenly-” but before he could finish saying my Daughter’s name, I was already flying across the solar to stand face-to-face with my Daughter’s protector._

_Looking slightly up at the taller man, I grab him by the shoulders and demand answers._

_“Where is she? Where’s Arthur? What has happened to her?” Beginning to think the worst has befallen to my sweet girl._

_“She collapsed and begin to convulse, yet moments before she had been fine and japing as always - she was not harmed or anything. We had been waiting for a boar before she began scream . . . God’s! Her screams Ned, she was in so much agony. I - I could not do anything to ease her pain . . .”_

**296\. AC : Present Hour : Outside Alarra’s Chambers**

It had been some time now, Robb having joined us not long ago. Arthur, Oswell, Wylla and Maege all stood around refusing to sit. Arthur and Oswell stood stock still on each side of the doors as the Kingsguard they are, their faces giving nothing away unless you looked into their eyes. Wylla softly mumbling between which medicines would be helpful despite not knowing what had befallen her ‘daughter’, being refused to enter the chambers to help assist or praying to Mother Nymeria. Maege constantly reassuring me as well as herself about the outcome of Alarra’s health. 

“Have you gotten word about ‘Larra?” Robb breaking the deathly silence.

Turning towards my eldest boy, all I could do was shake my head as emotions sat in my throat would not let my mouth form words coherently.

_Lyanna forgive me. If anything befalls her . . ._

Robb looking even more sullen and scared, walks to me and embraces me as a Son would a Father in comfort. 

“She will pull through, Father. As she does with everything, your Daughter and my Sister will pull through, hail and safe.” The choke of emotion catching on the word ‘Sister’ when he spoke it, making me hold him closer and tighter to my heart, as I would do with Alarra once Luwin came out.

_If only he knew the truth of whom he call’s ‘Sister’. If only I could give my the burden . . . though I pray the day does not come. Not today._

_Though it shall soon Sweet Ned . . ._

_I shake my head subtly, dispersing the voice that was not real._

“Did you check on your siblings?” I ask once we broke apart and Robb had wiped his face of his shed tears.

“Aye, I did. Alarra’s ‘Shadow’s’ would not heed Mother's words, so I bargained with them that I would wake them immediately once Alarra awoke if they promised to sleep, even going as far to say I would not greet her until they did so first . . . I will hold good on my promise.” Robb scratched the back of his red mane, mournfully looking to the ground having caught the familiar shine of moisture within his Tully eyes.

Understanding the look of compromise, I feel the slight crack of my lips.

“They haven’t slept-”

“Of course not, Father. How can _they_ when even _I_ cannot.” Robb rubbing his hands over his face in frustration and worry.

“She _will_ be hail. She has to-” I was cut short of my statement when Alarra’s Chamber door opens . . .

Opening to-

“ _Alarra_?”

**// END OF PART 3 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, I Kishie8 thank you firstly for reading my third chapter, and lastly for finishing it!
> 
> If you would like to view some of my imagery for my story, click the "Father, Who Am I" series button to view them!
> 
> | Updates |
> 
> I do not really an arranged set up for updates, ming you however I am updating once or maybe even twice a week for I know the need to convulsively read everything it bulks and in one go. I am the same exact way! 😩
> 
> Thank You for Reading!! 🙌🏽


	4. Chapter 1 : Part 4   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am eating at the moments and I thought, its time for another updates! 
> 
> As someone commented in my last chapter; "WHAT HAPPENED?"
> 
> Shall we see what happened to our lovely girl?
> 
> Let the reading . . . COMMENCE!
> 
> P.S. 
> 
> THANK-THANK-THANK YOU!
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos'ing and commenting on my work and chapters!!!
> 
> Enjoy PART 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal_in_training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**286\. AC : Alarra**

**I** flinch at the sudden brightness. 

I lift up my hands to cover my eyes as I blink behind them. I cautiously move away my hands from my sight and notice that it had been the brightness of the Sun shining above and upon me, through the crack of a slightly open set of double-doors. 

The first thing I noticed was I was laying on the floor and I was not in Winterfell.

_The ceiling was far too high and red for anything Northern._

The floor that lay beneath my head was hard yet warm against my hands when I go to push myself up. A floor made of an expensive and polished stone of some sort I notice, when I sit up properly.

_More importantly, where in the Old Gods was my sword . . . and perhaps the stone was Marble._

“The first thought is where your sword is, then you second it by thinking if the stone is marble . . . truly the blood of your foremother’s.”

The voice startling me so abruptly, I couldn't even comprehend my jumping to my feet with my arms fisted and out in front of me, before I could acknowledge my actions. 

“My, my . . . audacity - you. You surely are of your name sake, named so aptly. Though mind you, my ‘Senya would have probably followed through by running up to me, thumping my face twice or so times before calling upon whom I may be and calling me _slow_ . . . That is where I see Rhae in you. The ‘hoping for the best’ in a person or people no matter how much they detest you so.” The tall, slender but broad-shoulder man shook his head lightly lost in his memories, looking low then high upon the . . . monument of power next to him. 

His head carried short, pale, silver hair which swayed when moved. 

_Would my true hair look so without the dye?_

“It would be the downfall to her end, my sweet Rhae. Though it was her blood that would later carry on the name and broker peace amongst those who slew her.”

The man stood on the opposite end of the hall. His voice, despite not speaking loudly, echoed among its walls carrying the authoritative and deep command that was held within his words. His final words were said lightly and reminiscently. 

Seeing him without a weapon on his person and his none threatening nature, I walked cautiously towards him. Looking here and there around the hall and its pillars to see if there were anymore hidden surprises or persons among its shadows. Seeing three designated forms of exits into this great hall; the one which I layed next to when I first awoke, one to the right of the hall and one behind to the left. 

_The latter closed, so maybe I had a chance at the former._

“Mmm . . . preceptive and intelligent. You’ll make a good strategist when it comes time. A good head on those shoulders. You will have no problem with betrothals in your future-”

“I am only five and ten years of age! I still believe two years will suffice before Father - Uncle - Lord Stark finds a betroth, my Lord . . . I - I am sorry. My apologise. I did not mean to interrupt-”

“ _Stark_ . . . Highness.” Voice deep, holding no reason nor room to refute his word.

_Pardon - Highness . . ._

“Yes.” He huffs. “ . . . Highness.” He stands arms crossed, looking amused at my confusion. 

_High. . . -_

“Are you my true Father, your Highness?” My voice betraying the hopefulness and longing.

The King or Prince in front of me turns to me completely and looks slightly down towards me. Eyes that are almost the same shade of my own if they had been slightly darker, now that I stood at the bottom of the steps that led to the . . . seat that held the entirety of Seven Kingdoms together. He looks forlorn and deep in thought when I come to stop and stand at the bottom of the steps, most likely reading my thoughts of refusing to go anywhere near the Throne as long as I possibly could. 

Through his passive sadness, he smiles lightly and stares deeply into my eyes. He moved and placed both of his large, slender hands atop of my shoulders once he had steeped away from the tall, high Throne Chair.

“I am one of your Father’s, Visenya. In all respect not the one whom sired you, Daughter of Rhae.” Gasping loud and clear in shock and awe. 

He spoke my name.

_My true name._

I feel the tears and emotion build up within my eyes and heart. 

“If you are not him, then I am dead if you are who I believe you are,” choking upon my words. I could feel the familiar sorrow and ache blossom in my heart, for this time I did naught to hold it within. 

“I did not get a chance to say goodbye . . . Old Gods, what of Arya, Bran. Baby Rickon? Robb? Sansa? Rhoynar-ma? Arthur and Oswell . . . What of my Father? How can I leave them in such a way?”

He pulls me into his embrace tight. Cocooning me within his arms, beginning to stroke my flowing hair, whispering words of comfort and strength. I rest my head upon his shoulder and embrace him ten times as hard, if not harder, pouring my repressed pain, agony and longing. 

Not entirely sure how much time went by as the sun shining through the windows continued to stand high when he let me break apart within his arms. I allowed myself to pull away.

_I felt lighter-_

“-refreshed and calmer than before weeping?” looking upon me with a look of understanding, mayhap’s sympathy.

Feeling quite shamed and conscious at my outburst to this literal stranger, no matter our blood and name relation, I go to step further away and wipe away my damp cheeks but stopped by the hands gently clasping my cheeks. His worn pale thumbs wipe away any traces of tears and guides me to the bottom steps of the Throne.

“I need to go back. I must. I _will_ fight you, the Seven and any other that steps in my way. I cannot leave them!” My words firm and eyes set in determination.

“You are your namesake,” he mumbles in a reply. “You are not dead, Visenya. You are merely dreaming, if you would like to call it so.”

“An . . . hallucinations?”

“Yes,” the Targaryen in front of me simply nodding in agreement. “You were sent here . . . now do not blame them. You were sent to me due to your rather lack of care and in turn those became frustrated, as well as angered, though the anger towards you is to disguise their . . . longing.” The last word said with more almost a frustrated as my reason being here.

“Sent? Sent-sent-sent . . .” taking in a deep breath to calm my heart and emotions, before continuing.

“Who could I have possibly angered so much to the brink of causing me such pain - I am not with child! I am untou- . . . Anyhow. I have built friendship and kinship with those in Winterfell, and even the North, so tis’ is not of the North’s doing as they would not want to face the wrath of my Fa - Uncle. Unless tis’ the Bolton’s? Also, lack of care? Who have I neglected so much so that they in turn use trickery untoward me and my person, cause me much pain that I am now sitting on the steps of an empty Throne Room within the Red Keep? Hundreds of paces away from where I had been, sitting of the steps of the Iron Throne, hallucinating or dreaming about conversing with King Aegon the First of Westeros, and they have done so in the guise longing?” Rhetorically speaking so confusingly aloud.

Aegon patiently sat and watched me work and sort through my thoughts on my own, until he imputed his own words.

“What is it you have felt that longs for you more than anything you have ever known, Visenya?” The question asked so . . . reminiscently, as if he too had experienced it. I am taken aback from how the words he spoke were in such tenderness as well as my name, so my initial thought had been loving, yet I had not experienced . . . _‘that’_ love. Yet. But I was oddly enough impressed such emotion resided within the first rider of Balerion the Black Dread, of course until I remember the stories of him choosing Queen Rhaenys-

“THE EGGS! THE DRAGON EGGS?!” High echo’s bounce against the room’s walls. I jump from my seated position throwing my hands up in frustration. Rubbing my face with both hands while taking in a deep death, I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale and sighing audibly . . . then back to throwing my hands up in frustration. Mumbling about impatient little winged Lizards and their ominous words, causing the one of three reasons why the Targaryen’s became Sovereign of all Seven Kingdoms to ‘ha-ha-ha’ aloud and deeply. 

Having said that, my words _were_ rhetorical, he still deems it needed a reply. “Yes,” he chuckles heartedly. “It has been those three - very old - Eggs of yours that have sent you here, Daughter of Rhae. I shall explain why before you ask,” stopping me before I could utter the question.

“In the ways of Old Valyria and during the first century of Targaryen rule, when a Targaryen was born the babes were presented with as many Eggs that have been laid by their parents Mounted Dragon’s, and it _had_ to be the parents Mounted Dragon and not any other. The reason was for the sake of the babe and Dragon, for they needed to build what was known to the Targaryen’s or Dragon Rider’s, as a ‘familiar bond’. The Targaryen and their Dragon would also carry along the same blood which flowed through their Sire’s, which in turn meant Mounted Dragon’s would teach their own hatchlings the ways of becoming Mounted Dragon’s, as Targaryen’s would teach their child or children the ways of becoming Dragon Rider’s. Quickly and swiftly the chance of bonding would be. Especially when compared if it twere a Hatchling of a completely separate bloodline.”

He stood from the steps and now paced back and forth once more at the bottom of the veryThrone he helped build.

“You see. The reason why your Dragon Eggs have used such strong . . . feelings towards you, and have sent you here, is due to a very simple fact. They have been hidden and literally buried away from any one with Valyrian blood for too long. Far too long.”

“Too long.” Looking down to the floor.

“Indeed, which is why they are immensely-”

“Clingy? Attached? Binded? Chained? Anchored-”

“Let’s us use bonded for now. They have bonded themselves to you so strongly and quickly, in much more haste than most Eggs would have been when first being chosen by their future Rider, due to your Valyrian blood.” Aegon looking at me directly without hesitation.

_Yet does it not mean the Eggs have only accepted me for my blood and not-_

“Do not mistake their trust, Visenya.” Words more firmer and commanding. “They accepted your blood, yes, but more importantly accepted _you_ as _their_ other half. Just like the Direwolves North of the Wall accepted the Stark’s as _their_ other halves. How Ghost accepted _you_ . Tis’ no different than with an Egg or Pup. A simple way of explaining tis’ by saying the Dragons within their shells, once after hearing your blood - tis’ absurd understandably - and validating said blood, they then accept a part of you. Those of Old Valyria believed the part of you they accept, is to be your very Soul. The only way for you as their Rider to accept them in return is by showing _them_ acceptance, in any shape, way or form. The more acceptance you show your Egg or Eggs in your case, they show you back tenfold.” 

After his last sentence it dawns upon me in severe significance just _how,_ if not, _why_ I bonded with my three Eggs so swift and deafly without taking in the reparations of my actions.

“I sung to them. Ghost bathes as he would his own Pup’s. We both huddle them in warmth . . .” breath and air exhaling from within me and out once realising my actions.

“You did not know, Visenya. It is alright for you to feel both enamour and frustration, for you did not know what your actions would entail. Nevertheless, what is done has been done and must be accepted for you to presume the natural order of our ways. More importantly after the acceptance is complete and trust is built, is in turn . . . they shall allow you the acknowledgement. The granting and concession of you and them to ensue onwards for the-” 

“ **Burning**.” The singular word said in unison between Founder and Successor . . .

 _Successor . . . For if the words he speaks are true my Eggs_ will _hatch, and Dragons will once again be reborn. We will not be left alone. We will be hunted. Though I did not want it as I now stare upon it, I will not be left in peace otherwise once my birth is exposed. If they come for me . . . I will come for them, tenfold and ready._

“Just so.” Aegon standing now in front of me once more, laying his hands again upon my shoulders. His brows pulled together and jaw taut.

“Explain to me, Daughter of Rhae. What will happen when Dragons fly among the clouds of Westeros, once more?”

“They will . . . they will become a threat, no matter how small or innocent they are. A threat for what they represent”

“Yes.” Aegon said in vigour.

_Whether I was laughing wetly or was crying humorously,_

_I naught care for my thoughts, only my feelings._

“They _will_ become target’s once word is sent to the Baratheon King.”

“Yes.” 

_Feelings so blinding as they crawled so clumsily,_

_flapping towards my soaked and dirt clothed knees,_

_as the rain fell upon us._

“Once the Baratheon King has established where and who has hatched my Dragons’, war will come.

“What else, Daughter?”

_I felt as though my chest would burst_

_and with it a burning flame of light shall appear._

“My Uncle, whom I had ever known as Father will do his duty. He will honour his word, justly and truly by calling upon the banners and declaring war."

Eyes of mine now washed with tears, yet I would not let them fall. I cannot not.

“War in whose name?”

_They are now part of my soul from this day, until my death._

“Visenya Targaryen . . .”

_They are as precious to me now as Ghost._

“I will have to. I must . . . must become first of her name.”

_As precious as Arya’s first steps._

“True daughter of Rhaegar.”

_As precious as Bran’s first words._

“True daughter of Lyanna.”

_As precious as Rick’s first ever crawls._

“Daughter of _Elia.”_

_Precious as my first wooden sword by Robb._

“Sister of _Rhaenys_ and _Aegon_.”

_Precious as Sansa’s watery smiles when singing to her._

“Redeemer of Dragon’s.”

_Rhoynar-Ma’s kisses and embraces._

“Kin of Direwolves.”

_Arthur’s words of wisdom smile and smile._

“Blood of the Fire.”

_Oswell’s patience and trust._

“Blood of the Ice.”

_For the acceptance, honour and love given freely to me by My Father._

“True Claimer to the Iron Throne of all Seven Kingdoms that become Westeros!”

Words echoing, vibrating against the red stoned walls within the Throne Room. 

“. . . Visenya Targaryen. True Queen of Westeros,” King Aegon spoke. His eyes looking upon me with enamour and pride, speaking the words he need not say for they spoke for him.

“I speak for all of my Successors after me as well as all the Predecessors before you. You _will_ bring back the Targaryen name but not just in Fire and Blood.” Taking a hold of my hand softly between his own.

“You will do so with Ice and Winter.” The head of the Conquers turns towards the Throne’s steps and beings to ascend them with our fingers interlaced and intertwined, gripping on each other firm enough to not cause harm though it was strong and comforting. 

“You will do so with not only the blood of Valyria. You will do so with the blood of the First Men. Men and women who believed in honour and justness above anything else. People who took oaths and vows and promises to very mind, heart and soul, upholding those words to the best of their moral abilities along with their lives. Northern people who have more dignity and sense than most people within the Kingdoms and are not one for flattery and false words, shrouded with deceptiveness and illusory.” 

As he spoke, we still continued to climb the steps, though my mind was more attentive to his words than the sword-made steps of fallen Lords and Soldiers I climbed upon. Aegon’s words resonating within me deeply, as I may hold the name Targaryen, I was child of a Stark mother, one who was supposedly strong with the ‘Wolf’s Blood’ as Father called it. Uncle Brandon did so, also.

“Why do you think there are no Northern Steel swords decorating the very Throne we ascend upon. The Starks are smart. They value their men and women lives over a crown, which in turn made them even stronger and potent in eyes of everyone, though everyone South of the Neck may disagree. I myself had been intimidated by Brandon Snow and his bow of Weirwood when I first laid eyes upon the tall and dark-haired man, his brother King Torrhen with his crown of Winter even more so. His people held love and respect for not only the man wearing the crown, but to the name Stark.”

We finally stopped right at the top of the Iron Throne. I turn to look over my left shoulder and see just how small yet large the Room looks. Catching movement from my peripheral, I look back and see Aegon gazing upon the room also. There was an unreadable expression on his face that I could not decipher. 

“Do you know the real reason why it was written King Torrhen Stark brought 30,000 men to meet me and my own army of 45,000 men, rather than using the alternative of sending a script of surrender?” The question asked low, as if it twere a secret.

I paused before answering. Thinking over the question before answering.

“A show of unity. To see your value and worth, face to face.” I answer clearly with our hands still entwined together. 

He looks at me in surprise before it changed to laughter. He lightly shakes his head, bringing our enjoined hands and kissed the back of mine. Feeling taken aback by the act, all I did was stand and stare and then smile softly. 

“Of course, that is what I would do if I were to bend the knee to another. I-I. Would they care enough for my Kingdom and its people? Would you have pushed aside or harmed? It’s . . . common sense. Tis’ what a ruler would do. Think of its people before their own crown.” I shrug shyly.

“Sweet Seven . . . You, you sweet and strong girl. If only I knew that the unity of a Targaryen and Stark could birth a smart, honourable, well versed in studies and combat future Queen, I would have had my own children marry into them. Seven, why did the pact never go fulfilled?” He spoke aloud in wonder.

_Pact?_

Not knowing what to say as I felt quite conscious and red faced, I replied by saying, ”and talented in singing, playing the lute. Looking after pups and talking with the long dead.” Giggling along with the guffawing before catching ourselves.

“Unity is one, yes, Daughter of Rhae. It showed that within a short period of time it took for me and my 45,000 to march and fly North, it took King Torrhen to assemble his minimum 30,000 to march South-”

“Minimum?” I cut the King short. Realising what I done, I begin to apologise straight away.

“Forgive me, that was rude of me-”

“No. Do not apologise for listening and questioning upon it, tis’ a good if not valuable quality within a leader, one that is scarce to find in your time - and yes. _Minimum_.” Saying the word so carefully. “Tell me Visenya, what is the population of the North?”

“Just under a million. I know this because I help Maester Luwin with the growing calculations of those who are of age to join the ranks of soldiers, become helping hands to field crops, stone and other common yet valuable goods that are then traded and bartered by Braavos and D-or. . .”

“Do not fret. I have had a century or two to make peace with that Kingdom in this after world.”

“Dorne. The last annual count came to 976,000 or so. I am a bit lost on the actual number, my apologise.” I use my unattended hand and rub a finger over the bridge of my nose and then on the corner of my brow, all the while trying to think of the actual number.

“No need for apologises. How many people can say they know the rough populations of their Father’s Kingdoms just because they wanted to help the Master of their Castle? Hmm? I doubt your brother Robb would know.”

“Now wait a moment, that is not a fair as Robb is far too young to take on such duties. They are Father’s duties and duties which Robb does not need to attend over for hopefully many, many years.”

“Exactly, Visenya. Then why do you?” Catching me slightly unawares, but the answer was simple to me.

_Was it not obvious?_

“Oh, it is obvious Daughter, but speaking it aloud will help one understand it better.”

“Well . . . when you have a dream or vision of your dead namesake guiding you around her and my dead kinsmen and women, presenting you with a trunk that not only holds you who you truly are but is they answer to all the questions you had ever wanted answering. You hopefully begin to plan. Calculate the possible outcomes and options one has at hand. Making sure those you hold close and dear are protected from every circumstance that could befall them. Though, I always helped Maester Luwin with the North’s doings in the past, I needed to know just how many men _and_ women would be willing to hold their Banners in the name of their Lord Lieges when the time came-”

“What, pray tell, was the number Daughter?” Leading me to sit upon the step just in front of the seat. 

“Well, let me count - this is only a rough estimation from the books and writing that I found within the Library, so it may not be accurate. The numbers I could form were 23-25,000 men and women - that is only the trusted houses, however. Cassel, Cerwyn, Poole, Condon and Mollen being the smaller ones closest to Winterfell. Mormont, Dustin, Reed, Wull and Ryswell; having close ties, friendships and support for Father and his children . . . Mostly me, now that I think back over the years. Anyhow, Stout will fall behind Dustin. Manderly, having a strong and trusting relationship towards House Stark as a whole.”

I tap my foot, hearing the slight contact of wooden sole and steel meeting. I begin to spin and play with the silver band on my left middle finger using my thumb, running the tip of my thumb over the six Wolves that decorated the face of the band. 

“Locke and Woolfield will fall behind Manderly, however . . . Father has been discussing the very dubious going ons’ between Houses Locke and Bolton to Robb and I and is beginning to suspect them of sinister dealings, and I for one always believe in Father’s gut if nothing else. Hornwood will follow. The Karstarks, of course being blood kin, will follow vert quickly once the call is made, as will Umber. Norrey, Burley, Liddle, Barclay and Knott coming in too . . . why-”

“-is there only 25,000 Northern soldiers? My thought exactly. Do you not find it suspiciously too small of a number for a Kingdom of nearly a million people? You would surely have a sizable and monumental army.” Aegon questions, eyeing me for my response.

“Even with the Stark soldiers, the Winterfell soldier’s that is, we make up nearly a half of our own army. Of course, if we did go to war, we would leave the two-thousand household soldiers, mayhap’s halve each encampment surrounding the castle’s gates. Yet still. Why is it we, meaning the North, only have 25,000 soldiers in writing . . . ?” I continue to spin my silver band and ruminate the facts given. 

_Why is it the North only have 25,000 soldiers at most in the books? You would think it would be larger, at the very least as sizeable as the Reach given how vast the North is in land. Tis’ may not be the most fertile land, tis’ a harsh and cold way of living, nevertheless, if that were the case then why would there be close to a million people in population? If the conditions were so harsh and uninhabitable, we should have more deaths, less births and_ far _fewer hands._

_The Starks have 10,000 household soldiers. 8,000 outside Winterfell’s walls, with 2,000 within._

_Then_ why _such a small army in - on - no?!_

“By the Old Gods and Weirwood . . .” Turing my now wide eyes to Aegon. I go to jump up but was stopped by the hands still holding my own, who points with his other at the steep and painful fall I would most probably cause myself if I tripped. 

“Sit and tell your King what your inference is, Daughter?” Smug was the smile he wore on his face, his jaw sharp and lips thin. His eyes twinkling in the sunlight with amusement and . . . love. The way Father would gaze upon me.

“. . . Are you implying, daring to even insinuate that we, the North, are and have been lying about our numbers? Are you absolutely-” Being cut off by a kiss to my hand, being cradled within both of Aegon’s own.

“That is why I said, _‘it was_ **written** _King Torrhen Stark brought 30,000 men’_ and not told.” Gently quoting his prior words, emphasising the word ‘written’, for that could only mean one thing.

He continues forward, speaking slow and low as if speaking to a toddler.

“When I marched North, Visenya. The army my forces would have met on battlefield if your ancestor did not kneel was not 30,000 men. No, my Winged Wolf. That was the number I vowed, shook and promised King Torrhen in exchange of keeping his people from bloodshed. 30,000 was the number I relayed to the Maetser’s of the Citadel to _write_ _down_ , in order to keep the real number of men and women that marched with the last King of Winter.”

“What was the number, Aegon?” The trepidation of my question was noticeable, which only made Aegon pull me into his body and embrace me as Father had done to me. His chin resting against my head which was tucked into his neck, breathing in the natural scent of him.

“The number I stood face to face 296 years past, was nowhere near 30,000, my Daughter. King Torrhen Stark marched South to meet three grown Dragon’s and 45,000 men with 60,000 North men and women,” I gasped and felt the familiar feeling of tears beginning to form.

“Mayhap’s even more, Visenya. I remember sitting atop Balerion in that freezing air, nothing but grey and black was what my eyes could see for, God knows how far, but it felt as thought was leagues . . . With only the Banner of the snarling Direwolf being stood. No others.”

_So tis’ true._

_This is real._

_The North has been lying to the Citadel’s and the rest of the Six Kingdoms of centuries and have secretly been keeping their true numbers hidden from their enemies._

_. . . Smart._

_Once the Eggs hatch, and they will, the game begins and with it the_ true _number of the Northern forces._

_I am not prepared-_

“Look at me, Daughter. You are prepared. You are _more_ prepared than you think you are.” Cradling my face between his hands and intently looking eye-to-eye. 

“If the army of the North is as big as you say it is Aegon, it means war will come! Do you not understand?” Feeling slight panic beginning to set in the pit of my stomach, i hold onto his wrists tightly.

“War was inevitable, Visenya. It has been inevitable since that drunk oaf of my own natural-born Brother’s seed proclaimed himself King and sat in the very seat we sit below. War was inevitable the day Rhaegar and Lyanna fell in love. War was inevitable the day their union created . . . you.” Kissing my crown, whilst I concentrated on breathing and clearing my thoughts.

“You will be the leader and Queen the Kingdoms will need and follow. Small and high will admire you. Your enemies would be far too bovine to cross you, but if they dare do, you will show them your family words are not mere letters.”

_I am ready. This is as ready as I shall ever be._

_If not now, I never will again._

_I am the child of Ice._

_I the child of Fire._

_Honour is my word._

_Blood is the stain I will bear._

_Leader or Queen; I will one or both when it will be needed from me._

He begins to rise from our seated places and forces my eyes to meet his own once more. Resting his hands upon my shoulders he meets my look of brood with firmness.

“Trust those you hold dear. Your Kingsguard are there to be your sword, shield. Your eyes and ears, but also your closest advisors. I demand you trust them. Trust your those who raised you as their own, even if they are not of your blood or name. When you return things shall be different, yet they shall be for the betterment of _you_. You are-”

“Ready. I am not doing this for me. I am doing this for those I call Brother’s and Sister’s. I do this for the man I call my Father. I do this for the woman who is as a Mother to me as any. I do this for the men who took vows in my name to protect me. I do this for the woman and men who took every promise made to keep my memory a secret. I do this for the unjust killing of Aegon and Rhaenys. I do this for Elia. I do this for Dragons. I do this for the Direwolves. Winter, Blood and Fire, I will do this for my family and name. I do this for the Kingdoms.”

I turn from Aegon and begin to make my way down the steps of the Iron Throne. 

“I do this for justice and _honour_!” My shout ricocheting of the red stone. 

I proceed faster down the Throne steps, feeling brave and missing the last three steps, forcing myself not to look back at Throne.

“Look, listen and fight! Do not show mercy to those who have gone out of their way to wrong you, Visenya! Hold strong and stay steady, my girl.” 

Not entirely knowing why I was marching towards the main Throne doors, trusting my gut it was where I was meant to go. 

“Heed your Rhoynish Mother; gut over logic when the time comes!”

“I always do heed her words!” Over my shoulder I call back.

“Did you not want to sit on the Throne? To get a feel and not a glimpse of what you will be sitting upon for the rest of your life .”

His words were not shouted as they had been, it sounded as though it came right to the side of me, stopping me once I get to the marginally opened large Throne doors. I slowly turn in my spot and look in awe and pride.

There he sat the First King of Westeros. Back inclined, arms rested and long and frm hands clutching against the Iron Throne.

Remembering he asked a question, I huff slightly. 

“Aye, I could, your Grace. I will refrain and wait until I can actually do so myself. It will give me something to look forward to.” Smirking and bowing deeply to probably the last time I will ever meet King Aegon the First of his Name. 

_Well, while living that is._

I turn and push open the doors to sound of deep laughter and a lone set of clapping.

Brightness blinds me . . .

. . . I awoke.

  
  
  


**// END OF PART 4 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, Kishie8, hope you enjoyed Part 4 (as well as the previous 3, also) of mine and would like to know your thoughts!!
> 
> | About Part 4 |
> 
> When I wrote Part 4, I wanted to incorporate the Eggs & Aegon(1st) into this fic from the start! It was the main thing I wanted Alarra/Visenya to experience.
> 
> So why not throw them together!
> 
> Here is why/how I write it, if I didn't come across clear enough in Part 4 is as followed:
> 
> • I (as Kishie8, I am making this up so I claim this lol) believe in Old Valyria in the height of the Valyrian stronghold, when the children were given Eggs in there cots (that, I didn't make up, that's Book Canon) they were given them at such an early age to BOND with. 
> 
> Just like the Direwolves being raised by the Starks as pups and not fully grown (minus Cosain) Dire's. They were presented the Eggs at a young age to bond, become familiar with and in return accepted by both parties (human and dragon-inside-egg).
> 
> • For me this made much more technical sense then just; 'oh, ill burn this colourful egg just because my ancestor did the same and the flying-lizard inside it will trust and protect me for no reason, reasonably possible'. NO! No-no-no, no Pomegranate's! I, Kishie8, shall not accept this senseless and illogical answer! How the hell does that even come by!? I believe (made up) about a century into the Targ. reign and onwards, the ideals and teachings became diluted and forgotten over the years due to the amount of family-civil-wars and back-stabbing going on then. Text's were either forgotten and are collecting dust on a far, high shelf in the Red Keep, OR stolen, OR destroyed. <\----- This I can believe and can get behind. Whatever teachings that were brought over with the Targaryen's (I say Targs only because they were the only predominant Dragon riders before they wed into the Velaryon's) after the Doom just became uninteresting and a bit a 'blah-blah, i want a Dragon to make me look badass, THE SH!T and show how big (small) my ego really is' to the next and newer generation's. When in fact, a-ha!, tis all different . . . Well I believe it to be different. 
> 
> • The human (Targ) and Dragon Egg bond with some Juntu-Muntu (magic) at play of course (as not all things can be explained), with both parties accepting one another. The Dragon inside the egg will send some form of silent communi-cay in waves to the brain and soul of the Targ baba, and the baba in return will do the same (once its picked it up of course, duh🙄). 
> 
> The convo I picture is something along these following lines:
> 
> Baba: 'goo-goo ga-ga nice feeling; dada?'  
> Drag-in-Egg: *sending silent waves of communi-cay to the brain and soul* no.  
> Baba: 'goo-goo ga-ga nice feeling; mama?'  
> Drag-in-Egg: *sending silent wave of communi-cay to the brain and soul* no.  
> Baba: *sending silent waves of communi-cay to brain and soul* . . . Friend?'  
> Drag-in-Egg: *sending silent waves of communi-cay to brain and soul* . . . Close, yep! 
> 
> You get the gist fellow folk. 
> 
> • Once the trust, feelings of reciprocation and likeness are accepted i.e. the Bond, that's when the Targ knows its time to burn the Egg. Its time for the Hatching! 
> 
> • Now we got MY reason WHY the Eggs were placed in the cots, let's move to HOW. How did the Eggs use and spin their juntu-muntu (magic), causing Alarra/Visenya to have a catatonic, chronic and spazzing fit of pain and, end up talking to Aegon.
> 
> • Frustration and Impatience 🤷🏽 Frustration and Impatience is what caused the Eggs to send those waves of communi-cay to Alarra/Visenya's soul and mind and literally cunt-punt her in the heart and brain because the three of them were like; 'hello!! We have been telling you for three mother-effing moons you can finally burn us! Are you dense!? You have sang and cuddled with us, you have sent communi-cay back being all happy and awe and sh!, which means you accept us! And our furry haired brother too! So burn us woman! Pick up the pace!! You know what, we are just going to send you to Gradfather Aegon, he can talk some sense into you'. 
> 
> *juntu-muntu, juntu-muntu, and more juntu-muntu later - BAM! Red Keep, Aegon the Founder and wise words* 
> 
> Does this cover it all? Hopefully it doss, but if not fear naught thiy friends! I shall be a keyboard and 'send' button away! 
> 
> P.S. Also I came up with the idea Visenya's egg's are older and unclaimed eggs, each laid by Balerion, Vhagar and Myraxes. Meaning Sun Grey comes one, Winter Egg comes from one, and Blood Red come from one. They are older than Drogon, Viserion and Rhaeagal, which shall explain my re-colourings and edied pictures I have made on how I visualise Visenya's Dragon's to look in the future!
> 
> I do not understand the conception of Dragon eggs and I'm not really that much of a curious being to delve into that, so . . . Yep! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far and THANK YOU FOR READING!! 🙌🏽


	5. Chapter 1 : Part 5   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what did Alarra do before and after she opened her door?
> 
> Thank you to those who have left Kudos's and comments!
> 
> I hope you enjoy Part 5! 
> 
> . . . annnnnnnnnd READ!

**H** issing, I swing my hand up to cover my eyes once more as the bright light stings my sight momentarily before quickly dissipating. After blinking and rubbing away the blurriness that fogged my sight, I blink into a familiar setting. 

_My room . . ._

I hear the muffling of a voice. A familiar voice. One that is is deep and comforting.

“-arra? -larra? Alarra, look to me, my Lady.”

_Luwin._

“You of all people know I am no Lady, my dearest Maester.” Prompting a sign of relief from Luwin and for me to sit up slowly and carefully, wary of what had happened before I fell unconscious.

“By the Old Gods, Alarra. What had happened, child?” As he and only he made his way over to one side of the bed, taking a hold of one of my wrists and moving the other to my forehead in order to check my temperature. 

“I did not feel feverish Maester, quite the opposite to be honest . . .” My words falling to a whisper towards the end as I glance around my small chambers searching for Red eyes. My eyes catching Ghost who had sprinted away from the hearth promptly jumping upon the small bed and over me. He licked away at my face and rubbed his face with my own. I in return ran my hands earnestly and greedily through his fur, hugging his large head into my arms. 

_Oh, sweet Ghost, how I have missed you. Never will I ever take you licks and rubs for granted. Why do you feel larger, my other half?_

Feeling a dreaded cold take over my gut, I turn my eyes to a still concerned Luwin. “Maester, how long have-” but am I cut off. 

“Only hours, Alarra, though long ones. Tis’ still the same day, however you have been unconscious for eight hours. _Two_ candle burns, Alarra. My girl, what happened in the Wolfswood?” He stressed the latter words with worry, though his face was seized with no expression. His eyes spoke too of worry, almost as though he was accusing me of something . . .

“Ar-den. Arden and Lewos did not do anything untoward me, Maester, so stop your accusing eyes. I . . .” Trailing off. 

_I can’t tell him what I dreamt. Who I saw and conversed with? Luwin would think me mad. What shall I say? . . . Wait._

“I - _we_ \- had been hunting a boar, which was some ways away from me and Lewos. Arden had been standing behind us keeping watch, me and Lewos had been kneeling behind a broken and thick branch, my arrow at the ready. Then . . .”

“Then?”

“I felt pain. Pain unlike any I had ever felt.”

 _The eggs! Are they safe-_

_*They are safe, m’leth anam!*_

So shocked, my hands faltered, and I stopped petting Ghost. 

_*M’leth anam, I kept watch over them!*_

_What the bloody fu-_

Maester Luwin began to panic once more. “Alarra? Alarra, what is it? Are you feeling pain again-?”

“No. No-no-no-no. I am hail. See?” Calmly I pulled back the sheets and sprung up and out of my bed. My shoulders and back feeling the brunt of laying down for far too many hours, forcing me to stretch and pop my joints. Whilst Luwin was distracted with looking over my person, I slightly stuck my leg behind me, feeling the wooden trunk still sitting there.

_Ghost? . . . Is that you, boy? How - Are you in my head?_

_*Yes.*_

Watching the large frame of Ghost jump off the bed and laying upon his belly to the side of me and Luwin. Continuing with his licks and nipping of my fingers, the caring Maester mumbles and converses to no one in particular, turning to my lone desk in the corner of my chamber’s and begins to concoct a drink of sorts, then moving towards my hearth. All the while I am in shock and probably _have_ gone mad. 

_My Direwolf is talking to me. In my head. I am talking to him back._

Pushing the knowledge of Ghost to the side for the time being, I think back upon the eggs.

_Good. The eggs are still here. Think, Alarra, think. Where and how can I move the eggs? If Aegon’s words are for true, I will need to move onwards and perform the burning._

_*Do not fret, M’leth anam. I and the pack sang to them whilst you slept. They are ready.*_

_-OLD GODS!_

Physically flinching, Ghost hands his tongue out in amusement if his whipping tail is anything to go by. 

_Ghost I really need to get used to you_ very _quickly - pack? Do you mean-_

 _*Yes, I, Grey-Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer and Shaggydog. We sang and our bràithrean_ _teine hummed back.*_

_. . . Curse your change, King Aegon. Even if it is for the betterment of myself . . ._

I thought, staring up towards the ceiling of my room in exasperation. 

Blinking, I stood there frozen for a moment, all the while having this silent conversation with _Ghost_ of all things. I came to realise Maester Luwin was speaking and moving.

“Alarra, here. Drink this and hopefully you may feel a bit more vital. Tis’ warmed honey-water. I shall call for your supper and something sweet to be sent for you, as you do not seem to be in shock or pain. Just paler than normal. Here, uses the mitten for the steel cup and water-” Going to place the cup and mitten on my bed-side table, but I swiftly picked it up, ignoring the mitten, wrapping the hand that was not playing with white fur around the cup. 

_It does not feel hot._

Though with all I have experienced thus far has me quite quenched of thirst.

“ . . . is not yet cooled and consumable . . .” Finishing the sentence once I had brought the cup to my lips and took a large and greedy gulp. Or two. 

Unbeknownst to me, Maester Luwin looked at me in utter horror and took a step back. “ _Alarra_ . . .” he whispered in fear. Once I had finished half of the sweet-water, I softly smiled down into the cup then back to the Luwin to thank him. Shyly wiping at the corners of my lips for any stray contents.

“Hm? Sorry, that was extremely refreshing and delicious, Maester Luwin. Thank you. I feel more awake and spring now - . . .” Slowly, quietly I stared back.

 _Strange_ . _Did I say or do something? Tis’ only hot honey-water -_

My head snapping down to the steel cup, then to the Maester in silent horror. The cup was warm to the touch. Tickling. 

_Oh Weirwood. This cup is -_

“Alarra, how - I - you. How are you holding that cup?” words rushed as he goes to touch the cup, but knowingly flinches when his fingertips make contact with the steel. “It’s hot. Alarra, you should be burning - tis' _too hot . . ._ Far to hot to hold, let alone drink and consume-!” His sentence of truth is cut off by voices. Shouting and the tramping of a dozen horse hooves are heard from outside my chamber window. Looking at Maester Luwin once more, I quickly place the cup onto the bed-side table once more, Ghost running to the ajar window to watch who had arrived. I moved past the still shocked Maester to where Ghost was looking out of. The banners of four Vassal’s entered the Courtyard was all I could see from where my window sat. 

Blue field with three wooden buckets, with a grey and white border. 

_House Wull._

Red field - scarlet red field - with an armoured fist of silver.

_House Glover._

Field of yellow with two black, long, rusted axe’s, with a crown in between the two.

_House Dustin._

Black bordered, bronze field and a black horse. 

_House Ryswell . . ._

_Why have they arrived? What is the urgency? Did Father call for them?_

Sealing my window shut once I see that they are not entering to fight, I turn to Maester Luwin who had now snapped out of whatever shock had rendered him still. He had turned and was watching over my shoulder at the commotion outside.

“Alarra, you need to explain-” Feeling terribly sorry for cutting him off, I walk to him and place my hands upon his shoulders.

“Forgive me Old Gods and you, Luwin, for interrupting, but you must go in haste to the Courtyard. Vassal’s have entered; Wull, Glover, Ryswell and Dustin. Go and wake Lady Stark. Make sure our guests are granted appropriate lodgings for the remainder of their stay, though I do not know how long they intend to stay.”

I began to help the Maester collect his satchel and any belongings he is in need of. Once He is holding them within his arms, I turn to him once more before opening my chamber’s door.

“Alarra, you must promise to come and see me once everything has calmed. Please, my Lady," he urges. 

Feeling as though I owed him some sort of explanation, I promise with a shake of the hand. Spinning around, seeing that Ghost was again laying by the hearth with his ears up and blood eyes watching silently, I opened the door quick and fast. Shocked by the amount of people standing behind it.

“ _Alarra?_ ” Father sighed in relief and urgency, as he came to me in haste. Gripping me in a crushing embrace and kissing my crown.

“Alarra, what had happened to you? Lewos had barged-” Again feeling shame and guilt for cutting Father short of his words. It felt mighty rude to do so, but he needed to know his Vassals had arrived.

“I am so sorry Father,” I began as I moved more into the corridor to let Maester Luwin, who silently and stoically walked out and away towards the stairs that led to the Lord and Lady chambers. “You must hastily walk towards the Courtyard. Houses: Wull, Glover, Dustin and Ryswell have arrived and have also arrived in haste. Please, I promise to speak with you once 'morrow comes.” Lightly urging him towards the tower's stairs that led to the lower level and outside.

“Alarra? What are you-?” Fathers were spoken with confusion.

“I know, Father, but please. Courtyard, Vassals, go.” Before spinning and seeing who else stood there.

“Maggy? By the Weirwood, when did you get here?” Walking up to her and hugging her tightly and was embraced as tightly in return.

“Business with your Father, ‘Larra. Nothing to worry about. I think I’ll follow your Father in welcoming the other Lord’s, but I _will_ speak later with you.” Slightly tilting my head down and kissing my crown. I squeeze her shoulder as she walks away. Turning, I felt rather than saw Robb when his arms encased my body and squeezed me far too tight. 

“By the God’s, Alarra! What happened!? Are you hail? Did you hurt yourself?” On and on the questions came. I sagged into the feeling of my Brother’s embrace and hugging him back, having nothing else to do. I kissed his crown and mused up his red curls, pulling back an arm’s length away, enough to finally let in some air to breath. We hold each other by the shoulders as he runs his eyes over my being, checking to see if I am physically ailed. 

“You won’t find anything wrong with me, Robb Stark. Do you not know it will take more than some phantom pain to take me away from you all and the North? Did I really scare everyone? How are my Shadow’s?” Hopefully trying to play off his and everyone else’s worry, but from the three looks of fear and wet eyes behind Robb, I could see that what had happened to me was far more serious then I had expected. 

“Your Shadows are not good, Alarra! Aye. Aye, you did scare me, Father, Wylla. Arya, Bran and Rick! You even scared Sansa! Little Sister, you do not want to know how I felt when Ser Lewos came to find me, and I even pray my worst enemy does not feel that feeling . . . I. I could have lost you, Alarra. I could have lost my first friend and Sister. I felt my entire-” Robb choked his final words, it was all I could do but to pull him back into my embrace. His Tully eyes filling with tears that should never have been there in the first place. His cheeks turned as red as his hair. It pained me to think I had been the cause of this all. 

_Sweet Robb. My dearest Brother and oldest friend._

“Oh, Robb. Please, _please,_ do not weep or cry for me. I can’t bear to see you cry, I naught remember the last time you wept. I am here, see. You are not embracing a phantom ghost of the Crypts, little Brother.” Wetly chuckling after hearing him giggling.

“Oi, Snow. I am not _your_ little Brother. You are _my_ little Sister. Mine to protect and tease. Mine to make you laugh and cry.” Mumbling his words tearily, making me reminisce of a time when we used to run in the Godswood and whenever he fell, I would hug him tightly whilst he cried softly into my hair. 

Times of innocence are running short. After tonight, maybe reminiscing and memories of me and my siblings is all I will ever make with them. 

_Yet, I will vow here and now or in front of a Weirwood tree; we will make happier times once more._

Tearily I softly laughed, melodic was how it sounded to the ear. 

“Let us agree to disagree on that matter, _Brother._ ” Pulling back and wiping away his tears as I had done many times in the past, with my slender fingers. “Now, please stop crying. What would your Lady Mother say to either of us if she saw how sore your eyes were?”

“Aye, she would probably blame you.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong.” Huffing a laugh as Robb does so too but shakes his head in exasperation. “Now go up and tell those siblings of ours that I am hail and that they should sleep.”

“Oh, by the Old God’s, I promised them I would get them immediately to meet you before myself.” Rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. “I even shook on it!” 

“Well, if that is the case, let us quickly run up and meet with them before Lady Stark returns.” 

“Aye, let’s. But grab your instrument first.” 

“Why?” Confused, as I could simply just sing them to sleep.

“It will soften the blow of me going back against my word.” He sheepishly admitted. “Though I will go to the Godswood and pray for my forgiveness as penance.”

“Oh, I think you may be persuaded into more than just my playing if you want to be forgiven, Robb.” Pointedly looking at him before I hastily walked into my chambers and grabbed Mandolin. Arthur and Oswell giving me pointed and disapproving look as well as Rhoynar-ma. 

“Princess, you-” Arthur tries to speak.

“Only until they fall asleep, I promise. I . . . I need you. All three of you. Rhoynar-ma, please stay within my chambers or join us even if you like?”

Turning, I grab Robb’s outstretched hand and signal for Rhoynar-ma, Arthur and Oswell to follow, though the looks on their faces they were very against the idea. We began to hastily skip and make our way up to the children. Hopefully, we do not meet Lady Stark.

**296\. AC. : Bran’s Chamber’s : Alarra**

_“_ [ _May_ ](https://youtu.be/_yQpU_73Dv0) _you bring love and may you bring happiness_

_Be loved in return to the end of your days_

_Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you_

_I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay_

_May there always be angels to watch over you_

_To guide you each step of the way_

_To guard you and keep you safe from all harm_

_Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay_

_Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay . . .”_

I slowly trail off from the song, as I see four sets of eyes soundly asleep under Bran’s furrs and sheets. As silent and possible, I arise from under the fur. I had been forced by Rickon to sit next to his laying self until he and the rest all fell asleep. Next to Rickon laid Arya, then Bran and then Robb, who had removed his doublet and had gotten himself comfortable, unintentionally falling asleep with Bran lying on his arm. As I tucked in Rickon securely, placing the stray cushion I had been leaning on next to him snugly, I got to make my way out of the room but was unsurprisingly stopped. 

_My wild sister._

“What really happened, Alarra.” The voice of someone clearly not having been asleep, whispered.

“Arya, you are supposed to be asleep, like the rest of your Brother’s.” Lightly whispering back, but firm were my words. 

“What?” Arya said in confusion and dazzlement. 

“Huh? What do you mean-” being cut short by the frowning, dark haired girl.

“You’ve never said that before.” Arya recipes, throwing me into even more confusion.

_What did she mean?_

“Wha-”

“You said ‘ _your Brother’s_ ’, not _‘our’_.” Once the words left her lip’s I realised I had unconsciously let slip the one thing I did not want to in any of their presence. Though it twere an honest mistake, as I explain.

“Sorry, Arya. Tis’ an honest mistake, I meant nothing by it. I promise.” I walk slowly back to the end of the bed and urge, giving her my full attention.

She lays there in between the boy’s frowning. Which indicated one of two things; she was angry or she was thinking. I put my silver on the latter of the two.

_What are you thinking about my little sister?_

“Pull my feet from underneath so I can get off the bed.” She quietly demands.

“What?” I hiss. “No, Arya. That is something I am not doing.” Trying to decline her demand.

“Look, I want to sleep with you instead of this smelly bunch, and if you’re not sleeping at least take me with you, because I know something is wrong. You haven’t told me." Arya’s voice thickening with tears and becomes more than just a whisper the more she spoke.

“Arya, lower your voice, you will end up making them all up.” Placing my hand out in order to calm her. 

“Or, if you don’t pull me out, I will get up from this side of the bed and will most definitely wake them up.” The ultimatum is clear, and the finality sealed. 

_Shall I? Could I trust her? Aegon had said trust those I loved. I mean who am I kidding, this Arya! She has loved and cared for me unconditionally since the day she came into this world. She was my first out of six blessings from the Old God’s._

_I trust Arya with my life as she did me, for if I did not trust Arya, then who?_

Huffing, I reply. “Arm’s up, don’t wiggle and try not to giggle.” Only needing to use one hand, I swap the Mandolin to my other hand, as she was a fairly light thing. I shuffled underneath the fur, feeling for her foot. Grabbing a firm hold of it, I pull her out in one go, helping her stand on her feet without disturbing the others; she quickly jumps and hugs me.

“Thank you, Alarra.”

“Naught to thank, little Sister." Kissing her hair, I hoisted her up properly and carried her out of the room whilst she lay her head against my shoulder, like she always does. 

**296\. AC. : Alarra’s Chamber : Alarra** ****

I carefully shut the chamber door behind me, nodding to the present soldier’s lining the walls in the halls, saying a quick word that Arya shall be sleeping with me tonight in case she is needed, signalling with a smile and a tilt of the head for Arthur and Oswell to follow. Me, Arya, Arthur and Oswell, with my Mandolin in hand, make our way back to my Chamber’s. Once I open the door, I see Rhoynar-ma having made her home at my small desk and quickly shooting out of the wooden chair to greet me. Ghost was nowhere in sight.

I hear rather than see Arthur shutting it then locking it, sealing us four beings in and my fate. 

“He left not long after you did. He has probably gone to the Wolves Kennel’s.” Her words are steady but her action’s full of concern for that of a Daughter. After I plop Arya down onto my bed, Rhoynar-ma waste no time in enclosing me into her gripping embrace. I lay my head upon her shoulder, having to bend quite some way’s down, but I did not care. She pressed kisses over my face, making me giggle until I opened my eyes and saw tear trails upon her tanned cheek’s.

_No time but the present._

“Now, now, none of this.” Trying my best to seem nothing was amiss by amusingly trying to tease her as usual, wiping away at her tears. “There is no need for tears, for I am hail-” I was cut off by a smack to the back of my head and a firmer than usual one at that.

“Do not lie! You said the same word’s before and yet where did that lead you? Huh? Lewos had been _crying,_ Alarra! Crying! Arden had been feeling so powerless that he looked close to fainting more times than I can count today! You _will_ tell us what is going on or I swear I will force you into drinking a poison that makes you confess! I will not watch you die! You are my heart and soul, Alarra! You are my chosen Daughter; I have raised you at my breast! Do not let me watch you die . . .” Her words trailed off so hoarsely, I nor Arya could stop ourselves from crying. I swiftly brought her back towards me and held her. Kissing her head and stroking her back as she heaved and shook.

Breathing in and swallowing my tears, I turn to look at my protectors.

Aegon’s words coming back to me; _‘Your Kingsguard are there to be your sword, shield. Your eyes and ears, but also your closest advisors. I demand you trust them.’_

_A promise I shall keep._

“Please forgive me Arthur and Oswell. I did not mean to cause you, Uncle or any other pain. It was not intentional. I-I can explain . . .” Once my words left me, I could do naught to take them back, yet to be fair I did not want to. It felt as though I could finally breathe.

Surprisingly not, it was Arthur who caught on to my words. 

_I spoke their true names._

Arthur stood there in shock and oh-so faintly gasped at the hearing of his true name. Not just because it was _his_ true name, but because it came from _me._ Oswell still clueless, began to speak. “Princess, there is nothing to apologise for, for whatever had happened to you was not something you, I or Arden could control - wait. What did you just call me?” The Riverlander stepped forwards in shock. 

“Princess. Did you just - Did you - What did you call me? My name - my name is . . .” He was stumbling over his words and was so all over the place he was lost. He kept looking from Arthur and Rhoynar-ma for help, but they stayed silent in shock.

“‘Larra? Did you just call Arden and Lewos; Arthur and Oswell? That’s not their names, big sister. Old age is getting to you far too early.” Arya giggles behind me, hearing the shuffling of her clothes as she makes herself comfortable upon my small bed.

_Oh, my sweet Arya. Please. Brace yourself, little Sister, for what is about to happen._

I felt the arms that held me tense to then drop in slack, pulling away from me with her eyes wide without any tears lingering within them no longer. Rhoynar-ma moved away with her hands falling to lightly and minimally take hold of my forearms. She looked to me as I looked back. Oh, how her face looked right now, within this moment she looked so . . . adrift. 

Shocked. 

Relieved.

_Happy._

_As if I had just told her I had discovered a long-forgotten secret._

“Why must you look so shocked my Rhoynar-ma,” softly I spoke. Feathering my hands over her cheeks before tenderly cupping her cheeks, but due to the immense trepidation of what was to come my hands continued to shake. Not severely did my hands shake, though it was visible, and Rhoynar-ma began to release tears once more from her murky brown-green eyes, mouth stretched into a smile. Smiling so blindingly in love and hope. 

“Alar-” She goes to speak but I cut her off, with a defined, purposely slow shake of my head. Feeling the familiar burning in my throat and behind the meat of my eyes. My own lips trembling, yet they obeyed my emotions smiled tenderly.

“ _Alaerra_ ; . . . the middle-name given to a girl by her parents.” My words spoken low yet clear for all four occupants within my chamber to hear. Widening of eyes were my answer. 

“ _Alarra_ ; the name given to a girl by her Mother’s Brother. A Brother who took his niece and raised her . . . as _his_ natural-born Daughter. A girls Uncle.” As the last word were choked and thick with tears, as my tears could not help but fall at saying the word aloud. Near four moons have I known and kept this secret to myself, yet as I stand before the four beings, I have loved unconditionally three of whom have kept this secret - _my secret -_ close to their hearts, yet as far away from their tongues. Due to the Eggs that secret, _my secret_ , will and must come to light, dragging all I hold dear and an entire Kingdom with me. 

_I will protect those I hold close to my heart with every fibre of my being, tis’ the least I could._

I hear the rustling of furs once more, knowing Arya is far too smart for her own good and will easily put together the truth. “Alarra? What are you talking about?” Naivety and confusion seeped from the Nine years of age girl, though I could hear her thoughts as if I could read them.

“Well, little Sister,” I spoke. Guiding Rhoynar-ma to the side of my bed and seating her upon the edge, I turn to Arya who was already reaching for me. I sit next Rhoynar-ma with Arya cradled in my lap. 

“Would like to know a story?” Purple eyes meeting Grey. Targaryen and Stark. Cousins and not sister’s . . . 

_Yet so help me Weirwood. Arya was, is and always shall be my Sister. As was Sansa. Robb, Bran and Rickon._

“A new one?” 

“Aye, new. Though, mind you, tis’ nearly ten and six years old, it only came to light four moons past.”

“Aye. Okay.” Snuggling into my embrace whilst one hand goes to take a hold of Rhoynar-ma’s. My purple eyes unwavering from the two Kingsguard in hiding in front of her. 

“No interruptions now, as I need to speak this story in haste. Then we must go to the Godswood.”

Closing my eyes, I calm my thoughts and reach out to Ghost and the Eggs. Ghost was with his siblings in the Godswood. Waiting for me.

“There once was a Daughter, a true-born Lady no more than the age I am now, of a High Lord of a fearsome Kingdom. She was said to be spirited and joyous. Fierce in her love for everything and everyone she held dear. She and her three Brothers were ordered to attend a large . . . _gathering_ of all the High Houses, by their Father. Once arriving at this gathering, she meets a man. A man, a Prince even, who would forever change her and everyone else's lives; whether it be for the better of worse, that is yet to be foreseen. You see Arya, this Daughter fell in love with this Prince and their union would have been a happy one, however; married he already was with two children of his own, yet they could not deny their love for one another. Forbidden as it twere.”

“The Daughter had been forced into a betrothal you see, with another High Lord, the Daughter’s Father would not break it for it would become a bad omen and was frowned upon immensely. It hurt far too much to be apart. So, not long after when the gathering ends and all return to their castles and keeps, the wife and Mother of the Prince and their children agreed to the match between this Daughter and her husband. She gave permission for her husband to another wife, for she was happy if not joyed for the two beings. She had written as such . . .” Words became thick and my eyes blur slightly as I see Arthur and Oswell take deep breaths to keep their composure, their slightly agape mouths and wide eyes were all the strength I needed to continue.

“The Prince took his three most trustworthy guards and rode in haste to the Daughter’s castle, where they would meet once again and run away with each other. Happily, ever after one would say-”

“‘Larra-”

“Tsk, no-no, my little Sister. Listen. They run away with each other with three guards to protect them. They married on the Isle of Faces, in front of a Heart Tree. A Weirwood tree you and I pray to. In front of the eyes of the Gods of Old and New. The Northern ceremony was officiated by a Septon with the three guards standing in as witnesses. They journey South, you see, to Dorne. To the Red Mountains-”

“‘Larra, this sounds-”

“Little Sister, _please_ . Within the Red Mountains there was a tower and to this tower they journeyed. Aptly bestowed the name, _Tower of Joy_ . Though you are _far_ too young to know anything of marriage yet my first Shadow, all I shall say is the newly wedded husband and wife lived in wedded bliss, or so I believe. Do you know why I believe they lived in quiet bliss, Arya?”

“Big Sister, please this all starting sound as if-”

“Arya, please _my Sister_ . . . Please answer my question.”

“. . . Why do you believe so, big Sister?”

“I believe why because not long after, the Gods blessed this couple with the one thing that is so precious and innocent in life. The once spirited and fierce Northern girl became a woman. She was with _child_ , Arya. I can imagine not how _happy_ they had felt. A gift borne out of love . . .” 

Rhoynar-ma was openly weeping now, bringing my hand to her mouth to lay kisses upon my knuckles. Oswell did naught to hold his tears back, also, with Arthur _so stubbornly_ refusing the tears that wavered within his eyes to fall. 

_Two men who are the epitome of strength and skill, brought to tears by a girl f nearly six and ten years._

I cradled Arya’s head to my heart using my as she looked to me and no other. It was though I had only six name days to my life and was holding Arya for the very first time. This time I spoke to Arya and not the Kingsguard, and only her. My sight stings and blur but I blink it all away as much as possible, as I see the same familiar tears beginning to rise within her own eyes. 

“Their bliss would not last long. War was called. Rickard and Brandon Stark journeyed to Kings Landing and were murder in the most horrific of ways, by a Mad and crazed King. Those who held the name Stark or Robert Baratheon, were ordered to journey to Kings Landing by the King, but they refused. Both returned back to their Kingdoms, called the banners and what is known as Robert’s Rebellion began. The Prince left his Tower and his Joy’s behind, journeyed back to Kings Landing, called his own banner’s, fought and died . . . They said he died saying her name. Then the Lannister’s; three innocent lives were - were - were _hunted_ and _murdered_ , two of which had not even seen four name days and a Princess whose only part in this catastrophe was being married into a name that garnered fear by those who are greedy and treacherous . . . Princess Rhaenys. Prince Aegon. Princess Elia. The names and bodies which _Baratheon_ walked and trampled over to stake his claim to the Iron Throne . . .” 

_Gods . . . Pain and misery was all I was feeling, yet I willed myself to finish. My soul would not settle otherwise._

“Lannister, Baratheon and even Stark thought they had finally ridden the World of Targaryen’s, but once Eddard Stark journeyed, lifting the siege of Storm’s End, returning the bodies of Princess’s Elia and Rhaenys and Prince Aegon . . . He journeyed to the Red Mountains in search of his little Sister, to bring her back home. Maege Mormont, Ethan Glover, Lord Willam Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Howland Reed and Ser Mark Ryswell. They journeyed too with Ned Stark wanting to bring back Lyanna and to support a friend. I can imagine the canvas everyone had painted of the state Lyanna would be in, but nothing could compare to what they came across.”

_Heart and will do not let me falter._

I breath in and swallow my tears and spit. My chest tight, shoulders rigid and palms sweaty. 

“Lyanna was of course with child . . . Due to the grief of Rickard, Brandon, Rhaegar, Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon’s deaths. She was forced to give birth to the child early. The rebellion would claim its last victim and it was Lyanna as she birthed into this world a girl, little Sister. A girl of white silver of hair and purple of eyes. There were six witnesses to the birth of the last Targaryen, little Sister. Four of them are in this castle, two of them in this room and the other wouldn’t too far away.”

Her doe eyed, grey eyes looked nowhere but me. I was Arya’s sole focus as she was mine. She was crying - how I hated the way her tears fell and the face she made. It hurt to see her so, even more because I was the cause when I had never been so before. The cause of Arya’s tears had been Lady Stark, Sansa, Jeyne or anyone else. 

_Never me._

I had always been the one to wipe, tickle, hug or sing them away. 

Now, however, I must follow through and tell the truth, especially to her. She deserved it more than any other. 

“Lyanna died on the birthing bed. To shorten the story, the newborn girl was taken in by her Uncle, yet with the girl came two men and a woman in hand. Two Kingsguard and a natural born Daughter of House Martell. Ser’s Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent. The Lady, Wylla Sand.” I looked up and cast my soft gaze upon my protectors, before looking back to Arya. 

“Wylla Sand hand an affinity for oil and poison making. She would concoct a dye and begin to bathe the babe’s hair so it turned black, however, when in the light it looks dark grey. The Kingsgaurd faked their deaths; I presume they had help from Houses Martell and Dayne with that,” I lightly huffed in amusement. “Yet I am scared to tell you rest. For I fear you will see me less than I have been seen my entire life by those who are not close to my heart.”

Arya suddenly moved fast and swiftly.

_She has such promise of becoming a good sword wielder. Mayhap’s Mikken has finished with the sword I had asked to be made._

Arya held me tight and so harshly, that I winced when her nails dug into my back where they clutch and gripped. “No! No more! I know. I know, ‘Larra! - what you are to say next. But I don’t care. You have, will and always will be _my Sister_ and no one! No, one! Can take that from me, big Sister-” Choking on her tears and not caring no longer to hold them in, I too begin to cry in earnest and relief. 

Tugging Rhoynar-ma by the hand that has been held against her wet cheek, she embraces both me and Arya, patterning kisses upon my hair. Mumbling words of love and comfort. Hearing the slight clinking of armour, I see Oswell has moved from where he and Arthur stood, unsheathed his sword and was now kneeling at my feet. The Longsword tip pointed into the flooring and his head bowed.

“Princess, forgive me . . .” He begins but trails off softly as he gazes upon me. Removing myself from Rhoynar-ma’s embrace and playing Arya into her lap, I slide down to my own knees. At first, I feather my touch upon his shoulders before I grab the firmly. 

“Listen to me and please heed my words; there is and will never be anything you, Arthur or Wylla _ever_ need be forgiven by me. Never. You three have loved me and have raised me. Whether I am your Prince’s Daughter or not. I owe _you_ my gratitude and _life_ for protecting and teaching me the ways of the World.” Suddenly I am hugging him as he too returns the embrace. I pull him and myself up off the floor and embrace once more before I break off and walk towards a still silent Arthur Dayne. 

“Who was I to know that one of the best and gifted sword wielders known to Man, was shielding my back and teaching me the arts that he too had perfected, was right by my side this entire time.” I spoke amusing and teasingly. Feeling the familiar warmth and acceptance I feared I would not get from Arya, I now felt happier and lighter. “No offence Oswell,” I giggled after hearing the robust guffawing and clearing of his throat. 

Wetness still clung to my lashes as I stepped closer to Arthur. He smiled down upon as a Father would his child, and I could help myself from throwing my arms around his shoulders and holding tight. 

“Your parents would be so proud; your Father most of all,” he kissed my crown by cradling me within his large, calloused hands.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

Pulling away from Arthur I turn to the four beings, my back towards the hearth. It’s flames and and crackle comforting me furthermore.

“The reason for my asking you all here was not just because of my finding out - well no, it was the reason but there is something else.” 

Moving away from the hearth, I walk the mere steps to the other side of my bed. Kneeling I slide the trunk from underneath the safety of my bed. Running my hand over the depiction of Dragons etched into wood, I hoisted the trunk carefully within hands, I walk towards the end of my bed and place the trunk carefully down atop the furs.

Arthur comes toward me first, inspecting the trunk suspiciously. “I have never seen this before, Princess. Where did you get this from? Whom gave you this?” The Morning Star questioned. Oswell moving to stand to the side of Arthur. “Yeah, Princess, where _did_ you get this from. It is Tar-blood and fire for true.”

I beckon Rhoynar-ma to stand on my other side, whilst Arya moved from Rhoynar-ma’s arms and crawled to my side also, still seated on the bed, but she wrapped her small and skinny arm around my waist whilst I hug her to my stomach. It was then I explain the events of my dream-like state where I spoke to Alarra Stark, Daughter of Alaric Stark, and it was she who gave me the trunk which had been hidden behind the burial statute of Lord Walton Stark since King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne visited in 58. AC.

“Alarra,” Rhoynar-ma began. “Are you saying you spoke to the dead and they had guided you around the Crypts, giving you this trunk that is two hundred and thirty years old? My sweet you must know-”

“That tis’ all sounds absurd. But if it weren’t for that dream, I would not have found out I am a Tar - of blood and fire. I am not crazed, though even then I doubt myself, just please. Believe me, I have never lied about anything other than keeping _this_ ,” I say pointing towards the trunk. “A secret.”

Clearing my throat, I beckon them to lean closer and began to speak in hush. “It is however the contents of what is inside this trunk four moons prior that kept me quiet. But before I open it; what is known about my parents wedding documentations, my birth documentations and Princess Elia’s letter of consent?” Rhoynar gasping slightly and the Ser’s exhaling audibly. 

“Ned,” Arthur began. “Had been given them by I when we had reached Starfall. After that, the last I had seen them was when he was tucking them into his breast pocket with you cradled in his arms. He must have placed them in the trunk then-”

“Art, do you really think Ned, or any former Paramount’s of Winterfell knew the existence of the trunk after all these years-?”

“Tis’ would make sense, Ossie,” Rhoynar-ma adds. “Mayhap’s only the ruling Paramount’s of Winterfell were told. You both know Ned would not want Alarra to find out the truth let alone anyone else; where would the best and ominous place of hiding the evidence?” The Dornish woman stroke my head tenderly and kisses my brow. 

“Aye. If Father wanted a secret he did not want to be discovered, he would hide it in place in plain sight, but, that is only allowed in by Starks. He would think the former Lords and Kings of Winter would hold vigil and guard over it.” Arya commented in whispers, animatedly flicking her hands here and there. 

Straightening back up, I hug Arya closer. I felt the same trepidation and anxiousness. “The documents were not all that was found within the trunk.” Running my free hand over the carvings. “When the Good King and Queen visited, the gifted House Stark a gift so out-worldly to anyone who was not of Valyrian blood. And . . . They were the cause of my pain and attack today.” Suddenly feeling as though the hunt this morning and now had been days if not weeks apart.

“What is also in there, Princess?” Trepidation was clear on his face.

“. . . See for yourselves,” I say. I untangle my hold of Arya and undo the latch. Looking at the faces around me, I felt the support and even more so when Oswell placed his hand upon my forearm and squeezed lightly before letting go. I move my finger to the edge of the trunks lid and slow do I lift it. 

Bursting with excitement was what hit me so suddenly when I opened the lid, so much so that I huffed a laugh. 

_My overly excited Soul parts._

Once the lid was opened to its full capacity; there they sat snuggly still within their dark grey, Weirwood white and blood red shells.

_. . . Not for much longer_

The faint voice of a deep and commanding replied in the winds. 

“Dragon eggs.” My words breathless and wondrous. 

_Tonight, shall be the return of Dragon’s._

_The beginning of my journey._

  
  
  
  


**// END OF PART 5 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, THANK YOU FOR READING PART 5 AND FINISHING IT!
> 
> Just letting you know now, Chapter 1, Part 6 will be all about - brace yourselves - THE DRAGONS HATCHING!!!
> 
> Just something you, my fellow reader, have something to look forward to!
> 
> Also, I KISHIE8 THANK YOU honestly and whole heartedly for those who are commenting and Kudos'ing. Whether it be good or bad, I'll take feedback! Thank, thank, thank you! I honestly did not believe anyone, let alone myself, would accept and embrace the fic as it is. I know it is only 5 Parts so far, but you guys are honestly hyping me up and please continue to do so. It really pumps the imaginative ideas in my mind! 
> 
> M’leth anam | My Soul.
> 
> Bràithrean teine | Fire Brothers.
> 
> | Why I Chose Arya |
> 
> I was contemplating between Arya and Robb. Alarra has not known life with Robb not in it. Yet, Arya latched on and accepted Alarra when she could have done that with Sansa or Robb. I feel Alarra chose Arya rather then Robb for two reasons:
> 
> 1\. Arya reminds Alarra a lot of herself. When Alarra looks at Arya, I feel Alarra sees herself at that age running around the castle when it was just her and Robb. Playing knitghts and kings and so forth. I think as soon as Alarra clocked on to this fact, Alarra accepted her and took her seriously I.e. not wanting to marry, wanting to become more then just some broodmare to some egotistical ponce and wanting to learn how to fight. To Arya, Alarra became the voice of reason as sometimes she too would become frustrated with Ned constantly telling her no. Alarra is trying to let Arya live life as much as a child as she possibly cane before she too has to grow up.
> 
> Girls always do tend to grow up faster then boys.
> 
> (But of course we know why Ned says no, its because of Lyanna.)
> 
> When Alarra was Arya's age, she had it bad because on one end, Alarra is a girl. In GOT's era of time, though in my fic the North is very lenient when it comes to women and fighting, she isnt supposed to be so independent and strong willed. So she was always getting ridiculed by Cat; who would use Ned to send the message across, that she was too wild and she didn't want Sansa getting influenced because Alarra's a natural-born child.
> 
> And of course, Ned would do as he is asked because during the first few years of his and Cat's marriage, it became even more strained when Ned came back with Alarra. So, instead of questioning Cat or being patient and understanding with Alarra, he forced (unconsciously) Alarra to become more timid and closed off. Brooding, if you wish, though only to those who don't know her. Its why she is more intelligent than say Jon in the show. She stopped playing and doing as children do, to study harder and to become the opposite of what Cat believes she will become.
> 
> Otherwise, if Ned (Cat) didn't interfere, Alarra would have taken after Lyanna when it came to temperament. Alarra now is as calm as a turtle.
> 
> Though get it twisted. Ned absolutely LOVES Alarra. She is HIS daughter and no one, not even a birth certificate, can say otherwise
> 
> 2\. She has trepidation when it comes to Robb. I feel if Alarra did tell Robb the truth, he would let it slip to Cat or out right just say it. Trying to justify that Ned never cheated and that Alarra was actually Lyanna and Rhaegar's daughter. I feel it would backfire badly. Robb still is in the 15 going 16 year old mindset of everything will turn out fine on its own. He needs to grow and mature more.


	6. Chapter 1 : Part 6   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatching of the eggs!
> 
> Thank you again for clicking on my story and reading it!!
> 
> This is a pretty long one.
> 
> P.S. I also applied for a job at McDonalds and I had the interview today . . . AND I GOT IT!!!! So, because of that, I am uploading Part 6 a few days early!!
> 
> So are you Ready? 
> 
> Get set . . .
> 
> READ!

**296\. AC : Winterfell : Chamber : Alarra Snow**

“ **D** ragon eggs.” My words breathless and wondrous.

Gasps and step backs were taken after I had uttered the words. 

Well, that was the adults. 

Arya on the other hand moved away from me in such a slow way, I was even shocked, and closer to the trunk. Glimpsed inside with such apprehension, Arya did. She folded her hands across the edge of the red oak and leant her head high and over; the third soul in near two hundred surplus years to take a glimpse at these Dragon eggs. Or better yet; the first Dragon eggs to be seen in a century and a half. 

“Big Sister . . .” The words came out of Arya in such an indescribable wonderment. 

“These are Dragon eggs, little Sister. Ones that I and Ghost have hoarded and sung to for four moons-”

“Their why you’ve been acting strange!” she exclaims. 

_This was the predictable Arya I knew._

She slid (shimmied) her petite body off the bed and stood in front of my seated person. Arms crossed as I and Father did when contemplating or cross, and the frown worn on her Stark brow told everyone as loud and clear as words; Arya Stark was cross. “I knew something was wrong from the start. I knew it! At first, I asked Robb, but he denied my words, brushing them off as if I were lying - as if I would lie when it comes to you, ‘Lara.” The dark-haired girl huffing at the end of her defence. “I was even tempted to ask _Sansa_ of people, but when Bran came to me, asking if I had noticed, I knew that instance, you were lying - you never lie, ‘Lara! Never! Well, only if you’re taking the blame for my - Sansa’s - mistakes . . .” Slumping in her stance, her arms fell, and she became a girl of nine name days under her belt again. 

Seeing the ‘why’ in her expression, I take hold of her arms and slowly she shuffles into my embrace, cocooning her in my warmth and kissing her hair firmly. 

“You, my Shadow, already know the ‘ _why I never told you_ ’ question. Tis’ was not something I could not risk without knowing what I was to do before I could even come to terms, to _comprehend_ why myself. I could not put those who I love so dearly and cherish fiercely, come to harms way through my actions if there was even a whisper of my Dragon Eggs. You know I would rather give my very soul and life if it meant keeping you all safe.” As I spoke my last words, I turn to face Rhoynar-ma, Arthur and Oswell. 

Looks of teary eyes not spared from their gaze. The very people who had no immediate blood relation to me whatsoever, yet they rode North for me. For the sake of protecting and along the way loving me for who I had become. Yet trepidation was beginning to form once more. 

_Should I tell them of my dream of Aegon?_

_Should they have need of the reason why I had been consumed by pain?_

_Trust them . . ._

The feeling of heat and happiness bloomed in my heart. I turn my gaze to the open trunk, softly smiling at the polished eggs. 

Turning my gaze back to Arya, who was already staring at me in question. One brow cocked and eyes squinted. “Do you speak to them?”

“What-”

“Princess-”

“Alarra-”

The adults all spoke in unison on top of each other; bewilderment and curiosity making them step closer once again and crowding me and Arya. I giggle lightly and bashfully nod, shrugging as if it twere a thing of norm, which it was not so I quite awkwardly twitch in a apology in return to their silent question of ‘ _how_?’. I go to turn-

 _The time!_

Quickly looking up towards my sealed window, thankfully the drapes are not closed for I see that tis’ a dark sky above and that mayhap’s the hour of the Owl was upon us. Knowing I have to tell Rhoynar-ma, Oswell and Arthur the truth, I agree to myself that I will tell them once the burning has happened. 

_I promised tonight. I shall do so._

Looking back towards the eggs, I felt the hum of agreement to my thoughts.

_Tis’ time, vāedagon mēre . . ._

_Yes, kipagīros . . ._

“I swear on my life, I _shall_ explain how they communicate, but not now. Tis’ far too complicated too now, but first, we need to make our way to the Godswood. Arya, would you mind standing for a moment.” Arya dutifully moves away from our embrace and stands in front of Rhoynar-ma. 

“Godswood? Why there? Princess, if whatever you have planned is going to cause you harm, I will share not part of it. I cannot watch as you hurt and again not being able to do anything by it.” Arthur voicing his very _logical_ reason, but I stand firmly with my decision. Once I seal shut the latch of the trunk, I turn to Oswell. 

“Oswell, I need you take the torch off the wall and light it; you will be coming with me and Arya.” My voice clear and low, though I was smiling. Commanding would be the correct word, but that was a term I would need to familiarise myself with. Oswell looked between Arthur and I hesitantly for a split second before nodding and moving away. Turing to Arya and Rhoynar-na, I felt the urge to giggle as I saw Arya already buckling where she stands. “Little Sister, you take Rhoynar-ma and begin moving the drawer. We are going to be using ‘ _that_ ’, tonight.”

“Alarra-”

Getting a whoop in response from the young Stark girl and a worried look of Rhoynar-ma, Arya grabs a hold of the Dornish woman’s hand a begins dragging her away, but before she does, I quickly lay a kiss on both cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I turn wholly to Arthur, giving my attention. The Morning Star did not look pleased; his brown narrowed, and jaw clenched. I place my hands on his shoulders and look up to him, eye-to-eye.

“Arthur,” I began. “I cannot promise this may or may not hurt me. All I know, is that the Dragons need to be hatched tonight. I promised the first King of Westeros today that I would do so, as I have promised the eggs themselves.”

“But Prin-”

“No buts, my fiercest protector. There shall be not buts tonight.” I felt the tears burn at the tops of my eyes. Before I blinked the feeling away, Arthur had pulled me into his arms as he had done a hundred times before. He squeezed tight and laid one kiss to my brow and mumbled a prayer the Gods of Old and New. Breathing in and out, he released his hold and cradled my face. 

“Only this once, Princess. Promise me.” His Dornish accent laced with a Northern dullness, whispered clearly his words. 

“I promise, Arthur. You have my promise.” Before we pull away.

“What do you want from me, Princess?”

“I need you to collect Father. He needs to witness this, and even more so, he needs to know that _I_ finally know the truth.” Grabbing a hold of the trunk, I see Oswell is already standing by the old, revealed, hidden tunnel, as well as Arya and Rhoynar-ma who stood next to him waiting. Nodding, Oswell turns and begins leading a very excited Arya and a still confused Rhoynar-ma into the tunnel after him. Turning to Arthur he nods and begins making his way to the door, but I stop him. 

“Arthur, wait.”

Thinking, I look between the trunk I held and Arthur.

“Princess, what is it?” Arthur moving to me once again.

“Get Father-”

“You’ve already asked me that-”

“And Maege . . .”

“Why - oh.” His last word forcing his to grow solemn and understanding. 

“Call of them. No guards, just those who were there with you that day.” Sniffling, I calm myself from emotions and swallow down the tears. 

“I’ll meet you there with them,” he nods. “Lock your door behind me.” before spins and leaves my chambers. 

After I had secured my door, I began making my way through the short yet suitably sized hole in the wall. As I came out on the other side, I begin to make my way down the steep, spiral steps located just as you pass through. Once I make it to the compete end of the secreted stairwell, I begin to make my way through the pitch-black tunnel, as I know this tunnel like I knew the handle of my sword. 

Very well.

As I made my way further in, I see the growing of fire light at the end; they waited for me. Though I could not see the trunk properly, I still looked down at what I held.

_Not long now, my winged ones._

**296\. AC. : Guest House : Arthur**

_God’s, Alarra. You_ will _be the death of me._

As I, Ned and Martyn made our way to the Guest Houses, the Stark Lord had continued to ask questions that I could not answer for two reason: I did not know the answer and if I did, I was not going to speak them aloud in the middle of the Courtyard.

“Ser, you and I know better than anyone that Alarra has been distant over these past moons. And I know _you_ know the reason behind why.” Eddard Stark was not lying about my knowing, but it was far too dangerous to say it openly. 

“Look, Ned. Let us get to the Guest House and I shall reveal all there. The guards guarding are all from the Stark household, sot it’ll be safe to do so.”

After we had awoken and gathered the Lord’s, Ser and the She (“ _still_ _not a Lady, Twinkle’s_ ”) Bear in the Guest House’s hall, Ned looked to me after he had apologised for waking them up at such an hour whilst I dismissed the standing guards outside the hall and Martyn held guard closest to the doors. Just in case.

“It’s not like I was sleeping. Far too worried for Vis-Alarra’s health.” Maege swapping names as soon as Ned began frowning. 

_Rhoynar, you have something coming for you once I tell you all, Ned._

“What in the Old Gods has been happening to the girl in this castle, Ned? If tis’ about your Lady wife’s behaviour again-” Theo Wull not one fore mincing his words were cut off by me before Ned could retort. 

“No, Theo. Tis’ not about Lady Stark. Tis’ about the truth.” My words clear and firm.

“The truth? What do you mean?” The older and grey-haired Ser, Mark Ryswell, spoke. His voice deep and gravely. Martyn Cassel and Willam Dustin quickly seconding the Ser Ryswell’s question.

“Aye, Arthur. You don’t - tell me you-” Turning to Ned, I look to him and tell him clearly it was not I, Oswell or Wylla that told her. 

“She knows?” Eyes snapping to the She Bear of Bear Island. “Alarra knows who she truly is? Her Mother and Father? Though how could that possibly be - there were only fifteen beings who could know of the existence of that girl’s true heritage. The two whom had conceived her passed; both in battles of _equal_ standing. The other two who had just lost their own Sister and her children, but even then, they would not condemn the child for the doings of their parents. I know for a fact none of those eleven lefts, those eleven who travelled _back_ North with her would ever tell a soul. We eleven have vowed and promised in blood we would never tell another living being in front of the very Isle where her parents wedded. In front of the Old Gods and New.” The She-Bear was not holding back her words, for they were ones of frustration and confusion, and yet, she continued.

“So, Ser Dayne. _How_ did Alarra find out?” Arms crossed and that Mormont scowl in place. Mouth and all. 

Looking to Ned once more, I take a deep breath and send a silent prayer to the Gods. Any God that will listen and control Ned’s simmering temper or ‘Wolfs Blood’ he calls it, to not spiral. 

“She had a dream not long ago, do you remember? The night she disappeared, and we realised she had walked in her sleep, finding her among the deceased Kings, Lords and Ladies of Old Winter? She had spoken to me, Oswell and Wylla tonight . . . of having been guided by her dead namesake, Alarra Stark; Daughter of Alaric Stark and Eireann of House Mormont. The Princess spoke of her guiding her to Walton Stark’s statue . . .” My words trailed and stopped as I saw Ned becoming paler and paler. 

“How?” The Father of five spoke aloud, rubbing his hands over his ashen face. “How could she have found it? How - the only and sole being that knows the existence of that trunk is the ruling Lord or Lady of Winterfell, whose name is _born_ Stark. I only found the existence of it two years into becoming Lord, and even then, by accident.” Ned bows his head before straightening and began pacing in front of the high window.

His Stark frown in full effect as the others in the room moved back. 

The silent question of ‘ _what_ _was hidden in the Stark Crypts?_ ’, or even more specifically; ‘ _what was hidden with Walton Stark’s statue?_ ’.

Ned stops pacing and looks out the window and that was when he began to speak. 

“King and Queen Jaehaerys and Alysanne visited Winterfell during the first half of the century of the Targaryen reign. After Walton Starks death and to appease Alaric Stark for his Brother’s death and not getting any retribution in return, the Good King and Queen . . . they gave three very specific items to Lord Alaric. The likes of which have never been given outside of the Targaryen family.”

“Ned, you can’t possibly say . . .” Theo Wull spoke.

“They turned in _three_ -”

“Bloody Weirwood!-” Ethan Glover exclaimed loudly.

“For love of the Old Gods-” Martyn Cassel wide eyed and whispered.

“ _-Eggs_ ,” Ned tensely continued. “Three Dragon eggs which were laid by the Conquerors own Dragon’s.”

“I need a fookin’ drink.” Ser Ryswell muttered as he went and sat on one of the benches lining the long table. 

“What else was in that chest, Ned.” Maege having the guts to move forwards towards Ned, standing behind him and I moved also, standing the opposite side. Both simultaneously placing our hands upon each of his shoulders, as he heaved and breathed harshly. 

“The documents . . .” Ned breathed out. 

“Neddy,” Theo Wull sorrowfully said, he too stood to the right of Maege. 

“Documents of their marriage. Document of her birth. A handwritten letter from Princess Elia for Lya and . . . _him_. I naught know how she could have found that trunk. If what my girl says, then she must have truly dreamt . . .” The holding back of tears was audible in Ned’s words, and his still icy hatred towards Rhaegar. Glover moved away from where he stood and made his way over.

“Look Ned . . . What has been done has been done, there is no changing it now. But what was the real reason you came here to speak, Ser Arthur?” Turning to me now. 

_Oh shit._

“Well, not to alarm yourselves, but we must make our way in haste to the Godswood.” looking at all occupants whose eyes were now on me. 

“Why do you say that so tensely, Arthur?” Ned asked. 

_Princess; Death of me._

“ . . . I think the Princess is in the process of hatching them. Tonight.”

Ethan Glover turned his head skywards and breathed deeply, with his nose bridge pinched. “Ethan, why did you bother fooking asking?” 

Whilst Ned and Marge turned with such brute force, the She-Bear nicked a stone, stood Theo with her elbow.

“Oi, Maege-”

“Arthur! Why did you not say anything before! Let us move!” Ned moving already to the entrance with Martyn pulling the door open for the ready. 

Everyone too, left the hall also. 

_Oh, Princess. You have better hatched those Dragons before your Uncle stops you._

**296\. AC. : Godswood : Arya**

Me, ‘Larra and Wylla had finished collecting a kindle and fallen twigs. Enough hold a fire for a few hours. We three began setting the collected wood and fixed it all into a circle; larger pieces at the bottom with stone’s or rock to keep it from spilling out. The circle of twigs was quite large in width, probably two feet all around. 

The Pack had met us once Alarra had caught up. They had been waiting for us, well Alarra, to come as all six Direwolves had been either lounging around in front of the Weirwood tree or as Nymeria had been, pacing back and forth in front of them all. Ghost had been blending in with his surroundings. Waiting for me and ‘Larra to appear and once we had, our Direwolves sprinted towards us, Nymeria began licking me earnestly whilst Ghost bent his head and nudged and sniffed at the trunk affectionately before climbing on to his hind legs and doing the same to ‘Larra. 

But then a though hit me.

“Wait; did Ghost know before me?” I squeaked out in complete . . . audacity, and from the look that Alarra held, I knew. Both I and Nymeria huffing in annoyance, with Wylla stroking my hair. 

“Don’t worry, She-Wolf. Your big Sister still has to explain why we are here in the first place.” The Dornish woman spoke. 

I always adored Wylla Sand or Rhoynar-ma as ‘Larra called her the latter. She had always told me stories of Dorne and Nymeria. Everything! It was _really_ funny when ‘Larra got in trouble with Rhoynar-ma. Oh-ho, the things Alarra did to try and win back Wylla was hilarious! If the face ‘Larra was making, it seemed she was going have to confess everything.

After we greeted the rest of the Dire’s especially Cosain who never sat and kept pacing in front of the Godswood main way of coming in as though he were waiting. Alarra placed the trunk in the middle of them and asked Ghost and the rest of the Wolves to keep them warm, the suddenly made a funny face of confusion and utter shock! One of her brows shot up and her mouth flapped closed and open whilst she looked at a excited Ghost, whilst she then slowly smiled and rubbed her chest looking at the trunk. After that, Alarra moved to me and Wylla and told us we needed to build a fire in front of the Laughing face, as the wolves had moved to the left of the tree to surround and lay next the trunk.

It was whilst we had been collecting the firewood, Alarra confessed to everything. 

The dreams.

The voices. 

The talk with King Aegon the First!

Even being able to speak to Ghost with her mind!

When she confessed, she didn’t want to tell anyone because she was afraid, they would think she mad like her Grandfather - her true Grandfather, Aerys. I ran to her, dropped my twigs and jumped into her already open arms. Crushing her as fiercely as I could with my arms and legs! Hearing Wylla jogging close also and hugging and kissing Alarra’s hair, mumbling words of silly girl and love.

Ser Oswell Whent - _the_ Oswell the Bat! - had been standing near the pond with the torch still lit. Having heard the words spoken, he brought Alarra close and spoke some low words that made her big Sister pat his cheek in return, happily. 

Blinking back into the present, realising ‘Larra has begun to sing a song! . . . But it wasn't in Westerosi. Yet, whatever she sang, she always sang it beautifully.

“What-” 

“She is singing Valyrian. _High_ Valyrian, pup. But it’s actually a Northern one. One about the birth of new life . . . “ Oswell spoke, but his voice trailed as if he realised something. He moved away from me and Wylla after he gave Wylla his cloak for the Dornish woman still found it far too cold in the North, even after six and ten years. “Seven’s Princess! You plan on hatching them!?”

Her big Sister stopped singing after she had sorted the final touches of the fire and sheepishly looked towards Oswell and looked down in sadness before looking back to Oswell with a shake of the head and turning around. She begins to walk back to the large Pack of Direwolves and whisper’s something i couldn’t hear as she kneels down to the ground petting Ghost’s head. I pull away from Wylla’s arms and run to my big Sister.

 _For she_ is _my big Sister. Nothing will ever. Never ever, change that. Not a piece of paper or her true Mother and Father._

_Alarra, no matter her name; false or true. She is my sister. No matter her name._

Alarra had already turned from hearing my fast steps on the snow and held her arms open for me at the ready. She pulled me into her embrace, one embrace from her was never enough. It was where I felt the safest other than Father. I knew she needed my comfort. I knew she need to speak. Pulling apart, ‘Larra breaks us apart and tells me to help her. 

“Okay, pups. Move to the side, tis’ time. Arya come help me. Grab one handle and ill grab the other.” She says as she grabs one handle of the trunk as I grab the other.

“Urr. gosh its heavy.” as I have to use both hands whereas ‘Larra uses one.

“Oh-oh yes, of course it is, urrrr. . .” As her big Sister quickly grasps her side of the handle with two hands, clearly seeing she was faking this act. We make it to the unlit fire pit, placing the trunk before opening it. 

Wylla had moved to sit not far from us on the large roots of the Weirwood tree. Her head bowed, hands folded, and eyes closed.

_She is praying. I hope she is praying that whatever ‘Larra does, doesn’t end badly._

Looking up, I see ‘Larra watching Wylla and then turn on her knees to look at Oswell. “Hey, Shadow. Open the latch, will you?” 

“Of course!” I hiss in excitement. 

_Dragons. Actual Dragons . . ._

Peering into the now open trunk; grey, white and red. They looked like any other colourful stones, but that reminded of something. “Big Sister?”

“Aye, little Sister?” As she shuffles closer. Here black breeches beginning to dampen under the snow-covered earth.

“You said that when you touched the eggs, they were warm and hot. Like you can feel the life within it?” I questioned, still curiously looking down upon the eggs.

“Can-”

“Touch it.” Alarra’s words were said with an understanding smile and seemed to have already known what I was going to ask.

“Really?” Shocked and excited. ‘Larra simply nods and takes a hold of one of my hands, and gently places it upon the white egg . . . but it was cold.

“Alarra, are you sure they are hot to touch? It feels really cold and . . . solid.” Looking back up at her, her sister replies with a soft smile and shake of the head. She places her hand back into my lap and closes my cloak around my person. 

“Tis’ unfortunately seems only those with either Targaryen or Valyrian blood can feel the heat with the eggs. I remember - a fortnight or so ago - I had been reading some passage in one of the books. A book named: Animals of Time. Tis’ a book that it seems Septa Mundane had brought with her, believer or not, her name had been written upon the inside. Tis’ within this book and only this book I could find _anything_ upon the subject of me or Targaryen’s in general, having the ability to determine whether there is or is not life brimming within a Dragon egg. Do you know what it read?” Alarra moved her hands back into the trunk and out she cradled all three eggs. 

“Nay, what did it read?” Watching as Alarra held the three eggs against her stomach and stroked her thumb over the grey and red ones.

“I don’t know.” ‘Larra’s words making me snap my gazed away from the eggs. “Mundane had scribbled out the writing so much so that I could not read it. Underneath, however, she wrote Targaryen’s were of a ‘ _corrupt and sinful bloodline. Thank the Holy Seven they are vanquished thusly from this world_ ’, or something along those lines. I’m not quite sure - all I know she didn’t like them. Understandably if she lived through Aerys’ reign. After that, little Shadow, I tried to learn from touch and not text.” Watching as her Sister looked down to the ground, bite her lips and swallow down her tears. This prompted me to shuffle closer as Alarra turned to me.

“Stupid, dull minded Septa.” I scowl.

“Ahaha . . . I thought something among those line before dismissing them too Sister,” Alarra said. Smiling and rolling her purple eyes. 

_My big Sister had the loveliest of smiles._

**296\. AC. : Godswood : Alarra**

After rolling my eyes at the thought of Septa Mundane’s words. I turned my head to look at Oswell who stood at the entrance, Arya lightly stroking the eggs.

“Oswell,” as light as possible I called out, as I did not want to alert the closest set of guards to the Godswood. Once Oswell looked to me, torch still in hand, I angle my chin and point it toward the entrance behind him in question: ‘ _Any sight of them yet?_ ’.

In return the Riverland’s Bat shook his black dyed hair: ‘ _no_ ’.

Sighing, I signal him to come over here with a tilt of my head. 

Turning back, I gently lay a single kiss upon the eggshells. “In this case, I am not as patient as I normally am, byka mēre's.” Before laying them within the bed of interwoven pillow of twigs. I felt Ghost’s flank brush against my head before he sat next to me in silence, as Nymeria did the same with less grace. 

*Time is now M’leth anam but speak to Nymeria’s anam.*

Whipping my face towards Ghost, I slightly jump when I heard his thoughts. 

_I truly need to get used that . . . wait. Arya?_

_*Aye. She is worried. I smell it off my Sister.*_

Turning back to Arya, she’s running her hands though Nymeria’s fur as the She-Wolf lays her face upon her paws, but her eyes on Ghost, who just toilets his head. 

“Arya,” I begin, catching the dark-haired girl’s attention away from the Dragon eggs. “Why are you worried?

“Wha - how did you-”

“Ghost. He . . . smells it off Nymeria.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Nymeria began to growl, but soon quietened down after Ghost lightly (for a Direwolf) smacked his paw against nose and muzzle.

“I-I-” Arya stutters, before she shrugs hopelessly. 

“I know things will inevitably change after tonight, but you know I will always love you too, Arya. There is nothing that will stop me from protecting you, come what may. What did I say within my chamber about the ones I hold dear?” Calm and light my voice flowed.

“That you would do anything and give your very soul and life us.” Her little’s sister’s lips trembles lightly and her eyes water. “But I know, I have a feeling, you will have to leave. You can’t stay here forever.”

Pulling her into my arms, her face buried in my neck as her smaller hands clutch my tunic. “If that is the case, little Sister. I will do what is honourable yet fight to get back to you. All of you.” Pulling her head back enough, I laid a kiss on her crown before standing with her, holding her across my arms and walking to the pale, white tree with the now slightly happy red face. 

Setting her little Sister on her feet, Arya moved towards Rhoynar-ma as I go and grab my waist dagger, the exact one that I took from Theon and used against him. Looking down at the familiar Valyrian steel I sharpen with whetstone, I see my own reflection. I looked . . . the same, nothing of difference to account for but I do catch sight of the carved face. Looking back up to the Weirwood, I feel the looming presence of Oswell and the light foot falls of Rhoynar-ma. 

I begin. 

“Gods of my Mother, Weirwood and Children the Forests.” Drawing the blade to my right palm, I press down not too harshly, enclose my fingers around the blade and quickly pull it down. Granting myself a hiss, I feel the pooling of blood beginning to seep on my palm and through my fingers, though I do not look down. I bring my freshly cut palm and rest it upon the top of the carved face, seeing a considerate amount of blood beginning to pour down the pale bark. 

“Show I, Visenya Targaryen. Daughter of your Daughter, Lyanna Stark. Daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen. True-born and noble. I come to you today with the blessings of Alarra Stark, Daughter of Alaric and Eireann. I come to you today with the blessings of Aegon Targaryen, son of Aerion and Valaena. I have come today to beg for a sign of approval, a sign in which you shall grant me the power to birth Dragons once more into this world; to guide and raise in honour and justice. I, Visenya, shall use these Dragons to reclaim my seat as Queen of all Seven Kingdoms, naught for greed or wealth or name. I shall only become Queen, for those I love dearly and hold close to my heart and soul shall not be spared bloodshed and pain once my true name is found and known. Grant me the approval and sign to reborn Dragons once more to Westeros to protect, almighty Gods of Old . . .”

My voice trails and stops as the stinging within my hand seized, forcing my curiosity to lift my head where it had been bowed and closed eyed. My blood had completely drenched and soaked the pale bark, it dripped down and far to the roots. Gasping, I see it . . .

_By the Old . . . Tis’ has happened._

The winds around us picked up, blowing more harshly than before in every which direction, though I never took my sight off the face. 

The very craved face of the Weirwood tree, by the Children of the Forest. 

It was laughing. Smiling. It’s eyes weeping more sap than before, but tis’ was a happy face. 

_Gods of Old is this your sign?_

Dragging my hand over the sap and blood, I bring it away and step back. As I go to turn, I hear the gasps of three. 

Before I even turned wholly to the fire pit in which the eggs lay in, I saw the brightness in my peripheral and felt the heat lick against my neck. Blinking, the pit had caught alight, and from the looks of it, Oswell had not meant it to happen. 

_Also, no one it seems noticed Grey-Wind get up and follow his Father to the entrance of the Godswood_

“Princess, I didn’t it alight. The wind-” Oswell, shocked, began to explain but I knew he was not at fault.

“Tis’ alright Oswell, let me finish this. Please just let them live . . .” I replied. Walking the few steps to the now burning pit of fire, I watched as the fire grew and engulfed the eggs, though I could still see them. 

_Kipagīros . . ._

I pull the sleeves of my tunic . . . 

_Vāedagon mēre . . ._

. . . running my hands above the flames as they licked against my skin . . .

_Visenya._

. . . one bloodied and one clean hand begins to descend into the burning mass of flames . . .

_Ice._

. . . _Pure warmth. Heat and comfort . . ._

_Fire._

I run my bloodied palm over each eggshell, leaving behind a slight smudge of crimson in its wake, though I could not tell with the red egg. Both hands instinctively move towards the white egg as it sends more warmth to me the most in tenfold. Lifting it slightly off the burning twigs, I cradle the largest egg within my palms -

**_Crack . . . !_ **

_Old Gods, Old Gods, Old Gods . . ._

I continue to pray within my mind. 

“Come little one. _Māzigon, byka sōnar_ . . .” I coo to the now cracking eggshell. 

“I know you have been waiting, tis’ your time to be born . . . _Sagon āzma, sōnar . . ._ ” 

Flames continued to lick and swirl around my hands and the eggs. The white shell makes a fierce crack as it continues to rock within my palms, the side half of the eggshell facing me gives way. 

_Please, be gentle. Pleasebegentle!_

In the wake of the shell piece giving way, a considerably small hand that consisted of three finger-like limbs with thin miniature, long nail-like claws attached took its place. Pulling and pushing at the shell!

_So pale and white! It is alive!_

_Tis’ reminded me of Ghost-_

**_Crack-crack . . . crack!_ **

Another following of cracking, that was not from the fire, filled the proximity surrounding the egg. The red Dragon shell was contorting and cracking in haste from the outside of its egg where it rested, whilst its grey sibling rocked equally furiously, both breaking through their egg’s shells simultaneously. 

I see movement from within my hand in time to see the two sets of claws finish their work on the hole they have made. The claws then, surprisingly, steadily take hold of the edge of the shell and pull itself out . . . The first thing I noticed was its wide, awake and open eyes.

Red eyes. 

_Ghosts eyes._

It maneuverers itself with such knowingness and patience, the white hatchling used its claws to lean against and move. Its wings were connected with their wing and body and were a pale pink in colour and very transparent. It nudged and head-butted its own eggshell out of the palm of my hand into the flames below, its body the length of my hand and wrist. It moved itself to stand proudly and _confident_ , meeting my eyes directly where it stood withing the middle of my palm, it’s tail trailing across my fingertips and hanging over them, swishing and moving around.

It screeches a high-pitched calling. Burning comfort spreads through my chest as I feel wet tear trails drying and sticking against the skin of my cheeks. I bring the new-born Dragon still cradled within my palms to my face as it too lifts and stretches its neck. It’s miniature horns and narrow face coming closer and closer. It closed its red eyes when I let out a shaking breath, it preened under my heated breath and feeling. I feathered a single kiss atop its head where its horns sprouted. 

_So innocent and delicate, yet now that you are born, they shall be hunted._

_So, shall I._

_So shall my family._

Feeling it should be near their siblings, I bring the white Dragon down into the flames once more and let it crawl/walk out of my palms before it makes its way to the grey eggshell, for it seemed it was having some difficulty getting its body out. Whilst the red Dragon had chewed and clawed its way out of its former home and was wobbly make its way out, though it seemed this Dragon had mastered the expression of victory and _cunningness_ as I saw its blood red skin pulled against its snout to reveal a line of miniature, yet sharp, teeth. 

_By the Old Gods it was red. It was the exact colour of my blood or the red sap from the Weirwood tree, with the eyes to match. For it too had red eyes._

I use my finger to lightly run it over their snout and head, finding its expression change to one of pure bliss, its mouth open and feeling rather than hearing the purring. Screeching coming from my left, I notice the white hatchling clawing at the surrounding shell of the grey egg.

“Oh, forgive me.” I cautiously lift the slightly smaller red Dragon and release it next to its siblings. I double take at the sleeves of my tunic to see them seared and burnt. “Oh.”

I use the tips of my fingers and help the two hatched Dragons with pulling apart the grey shell away from their sibling who was now patiently waiting. Once the shell was pulled away, the grey Dragon steadily stood on its claws and screeched at its siblings before turning to me. It straightened very _gracefully_ and was much slimmer when in comparison to its counter parts. Bringing my hand to the grey one, I lightly run the back of my finger underneath on its chin feeling the purr in response. It toppled over from pure bliss, but I had quickly steadied it before it fell. 

I hold my palms together again and beckon them into my hands. 

“Come, byka mēre's,” softly I coo. Once they were all pressed together in my hands, I brought them up to my chest.

The white one clambered up my shoulder, moving to the top of my head with such swiftness for a creature just hatched or born. This one was a silent as Ghost and aptly looked like him so.

The red one clambered up to my left shoulder and screeched as loud and long as he could, before puffing and huffing with its chest out.

The grey one circled the palms of my hands before moving to my forearm. This is where she settled and rubbed her small head against naked skin-

“Alarra, what in the bloody Weirwood . . .” 

Sharply my head snapped, causing the white one on my head to grip my braided hair tightly and screech slightly. 

There stood Robb. Father, Arthur and Maege.

Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Willam Dustin, Ser Mark Ryswell and Ethan Glover . . .

I slowly stood up and as I did, the winds picked up once more.

Arthur and Oswell kneeled. 

The Northern Vassals followed the Kingsguard actions and bowed, also.

Robb continued to look between Father and I, voicing his words of confusion but I couldn't hear him. All I did in return was watch and look at Father.

Tis’ his words I needed to hear.

All Father did was stand still.

Ghost sniffed and then licked at the Dragons who in turn purred before he moved his head back to the moon. 

_Tis’ must the hour of the Wolf by now._

_All Direwolves howled . . ._

_. . . and with them Dragons screeched for the first time in one hundred and fifty years . . ._

_. . . The Carved Face laughed with them . . ._

**// END OF PART 6 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vāedagon mēre | Sing One  
> Kipagīros | Rider  
> Byka mēre's | Little One’s  
> Māzigon byka sōnar | Come Little Winter  
> Sagon āzma, sōnar | Be Born, Winter


	7. Chapter 1 : Part 7   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I START WORK ON SATURDAY!
> 
> So, as to honour my up coming first shift, I have written a 10,000+ PART!!!
> 
> This bad girl took me three full days to write, so I am hopeful you like this and enjoy it!
> 
> Alarra Snow is . . . gods damned when I wrote a specific scene within this part, I really teared up.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Heyyyyy, Hey baby!
> 
> OOoo! Ahh! 
> 
> I wanna' knooooww ooowooooowow.
> 
> If you'd read my Part 7!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal_in_training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**297 AC | Winterfell | Alarra’s Chamber | Alarra.**

**I** stroked the small grey head that was cradled against my forearm, watched as her red/orange eyes closed in serene bliss. 

Hearing giggles, I move my eyes without moving my head up towards where I see Robb and Arya giggling. We sat upon my far too small bed some hands away from myself, playing with an enthusiastic yet snappy, **Perzyx**. Perzyx had been the easiest to name since that night Three moons past, as _he_ had a very lively spirit and he was quick to anger, and due to the colour of his scales, I aptly named him after the Valyrian word for ‘Fire’.

Then there was the very beautiful (though all three were very beautiful) and effeminate faced, **Vezox**. Named after the Valyrian word for ‘Sun’. It was her eyes that were behind the reason I named her after the sun, for they were more orange now than they had been when she first hatched. She was much calmer than her red scaled and hot-tempered Brother and would actually ‘cackle’ or ‘caw’ back to him when he tried nipping at her wings no matter how many times, I lovingly told him ‘no’ or ‘stop’. Whenever Vezox would vocalise at Perzyx disapprovingly, it would lead her red Hatchling to waddle as fast as he could with his small head bowed dramatically dejected and cutely. Walking over to me and seek my loving strokes or kisses as _he,_ accusingly or smugly looked back to Vezox, all the while purring under my touch. 

Of course, wanting to be fair and a level headed soul sharer . . . whatever I was to them, I tended to speak quiet words of disapproval, before turning to kiss and stroke Vezox’s wings. 

_Her grey Sun loved tender rubs on her wings._

However, both Perzyx and Vezox would grow silent in submission if Sonax deemed it fit to stop _her_ siblings from quarrelling, and she would do so by simply screeching as loud as she possibly can after not being heard the first few times, calmly. 

_Tis’ was a very loud screech for something only a big as my hand and half of my forearm, if I say so myself._

Robb had taken it personally when I decided to tell Arya and not him about everything, at first. Then that anger had turned towards Father for my sake, but I had quite quickly brought him to my chambers having had both felt the pull from the Hatchlings, and the need to have a one-on-one conversation with my Brother. Despite explaining the severity and the horrors that would come to them, the people we knew and our Kingdom, Robb had already understood. Yet, as he had explained: _“It doesn’t stop me from being angered on your behalf. Not with you believing you were a base-born child. Not with the fact you are in truth my cousin and not sis-sis-!"_ He had broken down and silently wept and I let him do so in my embrace. I knew his emotions were overloaded with _everything_ that had come to light, and that he needed an anchor to hold him for a moment. I promised if he had questions, I would be there to answer them all. 

_Which_ is how I got roped into having them upon my bed lightly teasing my Perzyx.

_Old Gods, these Stark siblings of mine truly lay the emotional blackmail and watery eyes far too thickly; how could I deny them?_

Tis’ has been four days past since both Robb and I had turned Six and Ten years of age, and a fortnight since the bringing of another new year. Lady Stark had wanted to organise a feast, a week ago that conversation had taken place, for Robb’s name day and possibly finding suitors for Sansa, Arya and _me._ Father had shut down that idea as soon as Lady Stark had finished uttering the sentence, gravely though it had been in a calming manner only Father could manage. It had been over breaking fast when she had brought it up and Father was not having it. Robb had always been fixed on having a Northern match as it would appease the vassals. But Arya? She had yet to turn ten name days. She was far too young and so was Sansa as she would be turning two and ten years. 

_As for I?_

My marriage would need to be a political one. One for alliance and power. One of convenience that I unfortunately had realised and come to terms with far too quickly, even before finding out my true lineage. My future betrothal would have been to better House Stark. Now, however, it would need to one of the major Houses and for their backing. Father had shut down the suitor’s idea for all _three_ of his daughters, all the while Arya vocalised her own displeasure and Sansa surprisingly stayed quiet and had not gushed. As well as the idea of a feast was stopped, even if twere for just the Northern and Riverland vassals. Though that would only be for now. 

_For now . . . Too soon. Tis’ far too soon for the Dragon’s or the rest of the family to know the truth. We needed to prepare silently and strategically._

Father had read my eyes and unspoken thoughts truly and made it final, but promised when the girls were of an older and more appropriate age, they would look; not now. 

Tis’ was for that reason Father had call court this morn, both farmers and cattle herders were told to bring the Norths current numbers, _and_ to be given precise estimations for the next year or five. Robb, who had been attending court alongside Father for some years now and so had I until the hatchings, had explained the older men and women of the Court had fallen in complete silence. Why? Tis' due to the fact they were old enough to recognise the gravity behind what they were being asked.

_No Lord would ask about Five years in advancement about crops and cattle, unless war was to follow._

Robb explained Father left saying hopefully by the time word got around the North, it would give them (the North) time enough to prepare. Her Tully haired Brother had also explained that it was a good strategy for word to pass through the North quickly, that war was to come, without actually saying the word. Father would not be blame if things were to take a turn for the worse.

_Good. I am glad I sent Oswell with my note when he left for his shift change the previous eve, and Father heeded my words. There’s no real need for Robb to know that, however._

It was and always will be the people of their Kingdoms that give _us_ , the high Houses the right to live without the worry of going to bed hungry. Tis’ their hard work, blood and tears that brought us our coin. It was our duty as their Lord or Lady Lieges to provide the appropriate decisions and correct investments, to better the Kingdom for the better of their people. To provide them safety and hold the promises we are sworn to.

_I hope to follow through with my thoughts, one day. With honour and mind._

Not much has changed since eve of that day two moon past, though I know Bran and Rickon have noticed my absences during the day. So has the rest of Winterfell, from the sounds of it. 

When the Eggs at the time sent me to Aegon (though I still do not and _cannot_ comprehend _how_ they did so), all of those that had been inside Winterfell's grey, stone walls thought I had either fallen ill or had _died!_ Apparently, when Maggy had not seen or heard about me since the day before, she had thought the worse had befallen me and had even braved asking Father despite her being head cook and her family having served the Starks for more than Eight generations, it was quite improper to ask. Of course, she had been made aware that I was well and that it was just a case of a severe headache. Maggy being Maggy, had sent an entire freshly baked apple pie that afternoon and it was as delicious as ever. Even the Dragons found naught wrong with the pastry. 

Thinking of Dragons, I felt the shift in my hair where Sonax lay. I felt her small though sharp claws beginning to move down the side of head, and seizing the top of ear. Understanding what her ‘Winter’ wanted, I clasped my pale future rider lightly around her body and brought her to my chest, setting her against my beating heart as I leant back against the feather pillows. 

Of course, I named my palest and red eyed Dragon, **Sonax**. ‘Winter’, in Valyrian.

She was Ghost if he had been born in a female Dragons body. 

Which reminded me. 

_They are growing bigger._

I had been set on the thought of measuring the Hatchlings every week, both out of curiosity and for the future. However, it seemed any book that spoke about Dragons had nothing concrete or substantial, I decided twice a fortnight had been an appropriate amount of time to measure the Three, but for some scarily yet exciting reason . . . the Dragons were growing fast. 

_Far too fast._

Of course, there is a plain difference between Dire’s and Dragons, I had logically thought the growing for reptilian animals would be slower than that of a worm blooded animal. I had, for some odd reason, thought the Dragons would be cold to the touch as would a frog or a common lizard. Yet, they obviously were very hot or warm to the touch which should not had surprised me. I knew when they were old enough, they would begin to breath fire . . .

_Yet, they grow almost four inches every half a fortnight._

I had found out very abruptly over the first few days that the Dragons were growing too fast than they should be. Mayhap’s it was what I was feeding them, meats and goat’s milk. It was the most logical explanation I could think of at first, yet I knew there was nothing logically about Dragons where they were concerned. 

Mayhap’s this was what King Aegon meant: “changes would be made for my benefit . . .”

_Yet how does this help me? If anything, within a few moons, it shall become harder for me to continue hiding them within my chambers. . . Old Gods, I would need to speak to the adults on the matter._

Sonax has grown the largest as she had been the biggest egg of the three. From the size of my hand, she was now of length with the tips of my fingers to my elbow. Her pale Hatchling was Eight and Ten inches in length, where her red and grey siblings were Five and Ten inches. When the Direwolves had been growing, they too had grown faster than the average dog or common forest wolf . . . though tis’ had not been as fast as these Dragons. 

If my numbers are sound, Sonax will be Ten feet in length by the end of this new year, with Perzyx and Vezox being roughly Nine feet . . .

_In a year, they will all be an entire being larger than I . . . by the Old Gods, King Aegon._

I will need to lea - feeling the slight tugs on my grey dress where I was leant back, I shook my head to clear away my thoughts and looked down to see all three Dragons crawling and settling against my breast in un-troublesome content. I coo at Vezox as she purrs under my fingertips, then in haste bringing my left hand away from Sonax to Perzyx, as the devious one out of the three, flutters his wings slightly and buckles under the touch. Sonax turns her head skywards and then snuggles closer to my chest. 

_Did she just roll her eyes?_

“Nymeria-”

“Grey Wind-”

Her siblings both called out at the same time. Realising I had again been swept away in thought about the Dragons again, I see the very curious gazes and ears flicking, from where they sniffed closer towards my person.

Or specifically the resting Dragons. 

I caught Ghosts red eyes and see him innocently tilt his head. 

*Shall I teach them, M’leth anam?*

Smiling softly at my furry companion who rested by the heath, I nod.

*Aye, they are but curious. Just as you had been.*

With no further prompting, Ghost jumped up silently and communicated to his siblings . . . somehow. Slowly yet surely, with Ghost leading, he sniffed Sonax who is the closest, by sitting down next to the bed and lowering his head some bit. Sonax lifted her growing, narrow head; red meeting red. Both of her pale companions huffed or purred to each other. I in turn felt the building of comfort and warmth spreading through my chest. Perzyx, seeming not liking his Sister’s attention on Ghost, got up from where he rested upon my chest and waddled in front of his sister and pushed out his chest and wings to seem intimidated, cawing and snapping as loud as he could. 

Ghost just tilted his head, tongue lolling out and his tail whipping at his younger pack mate.

I laughed lightly, the vibrations in my chest prompting Vezox to rub her head into the soft material of my dress even more so. Her grey Hatchling was fine with letting her siblings do whatever they were doing . . . until Nymeria skipped around the bed, past Arya and Robb who were both just curiously watching as I, and imitated Ghosts actions; tongue out, tail whipping and head tilted. _Then_ Vezox deemed it certain to awake from her short nap, staring directly at the yellow eyes of the white and grey Direwolf. 

Vezox, stretched her wings and purred audible under my touch . . . before she confidently walked up to Nymeria and head butted the Dire’s snout, causing Arya to blink before laughing loudly and Nymeria to blink before she began jumping and vocalising her excitement. 

“Ahaha! Oh, you have your hands full with Vezox and Perzyx, little Sister,” Robb laughed as he doubled over. Grey Wind had swapped places with Ghost, with now cutely ferocious Perzyx, trying to breath fire onto him.

I chuckled lightly as I picked Perzyx off of his furry counterpart, soothing over the fur where his miniature claws had grabbed. “Sorry, Grey. It seems we have much to teach your littlest siblings,” bringing Perzyx to her face. Planting light kisses and receiving purrs and open mouth pants in return. Sonax just looked at her two younger siblings and went back to receiving a wash down by Ghost, as he licked away at her scales.

_Peace. Just peace._

**297 AC. | Winterfell | Lords Solar | Three Moons Later**

I stood closest to the window within Father’s large solar as he, Arthur, Oswell and Martyn Cassel went over my list of trusted Houses. I heard the light foot falls and knew it was Rhoynar-ma. She placed her hand upon my shoulder and moved into my line of sight. I did not straighten my posture where I leant against the stained windowpane, the thick glass depicting a grey Direwolf howling. I continued to stare out, my eyes running over the vast woods and earth covered in snow. 

“My sweet one, what is troubling you?” Rhoyn-ma began. “Are you worried about the list of Houses you listed? Do you think there are some that would-?” I cut off Rhoynar-ma by simply turning my weary eyes to her. She cups my face with her tanned hands, as I moved my gaze where the men crowded and bent over a map of Westeros. Moving pieces here or there.

_War is coming. I am prepared. Yet here I am worrying over three creatures and an odd feeling._

_Again_.

“Daughter, tell me what is - oh . . . is it the . . .” Her Mother in all but name and blood trailed her words into nothing but silent breaths as she too, realised why I was brooding.

“Aye,” I murmur. “Two foot Eight inches and Two Foot One inch, my Ma. Those measurements were taken from _this_ morn. Those measurements show Sonax, Perzyx and Vezox have grown a _foot_ and a bit in the mere three moons it has taken for _me_ , to write up all the names that would be loyal to my cause. I thought that my moving them into the abandon cave in the Godswood was a temporary fixture, but now tis’ seems I will need to keep them there longer.”

“Do you fear they will quarrel with you Wolves?” Which was a logical question, however the Dragons had become a part of the Pack and were accepted as scaly, winged Wolves. When I had moved the Dragons deep into the undisturbed, old cave of the Godswood, the Direwolves migrated from their built Wolves Den and into the woods with them, not thinking twice about it all. They kept the Dragons entertained whilst I went around Winterfell and Winter Town, meeting with those I did as usual, keeping up my appearance. All the while I was away from the Dragons, I would try and practice my best to send comfort to all three. I would converse to both Sonax and Ghost who rarely, if not ever, left his ‘ _bràithrean teine_ ’ alone. 

“Nay, they do not quarrel. Play? Yes. Fight? No. Ghost and the rest of the Dire’s try to make up for my absence as much as possible, but I do feel their ache for me, though it doubles if I do not see them when it’s time for feeding. Yet, Ma . . . Gods, they are intelligent. Far smarter than I would ever think . . . possible.” I look wistfully down towards the Godswood. Knowing somewhere in the far, deep trees, her Dragons and Direwolf awaited her. 

Turning to gaze upon Rhoynar-ma, she cradles my face knowing from my expression there was more. 

“What else, Alarra? What else, troubles you?” Her voice warm and soothing.

_of course my Rhoynar-ma knew there was more._

_Only she._

“I have a . . . feeling. One I naught not know how to describe nor from whence it came. Just a feeling of dread and hollow.” I straighten my stance and cup Rhoynar-ma’s that still rested upon my face. 

“I fear I will have to leave soon-”

“You only shall not be leaving _alone_ , Alarra!” Rhoynar-ma hisses with a light frown. “Where you go, I follow. Where you go, those two old brutes follow, also.”

Hearing the clinking of armour and seeing its dull shine from the peripheral of my eyes. Purple meets blue. My solemn smile meets his fighting smirk. “I’m no old brute, Wylla. Seven’s, if I knew you thought of me as such, I would have flirted more, and since it seems like the case, I would love Wyl-”

“Shut up, Bat!” Wylla smacks him over the head, while Oswell mockingly ducks away. Making me slightly giggle. “Your flirting hasn't worked for Eight and Ten years, it won’t start now - and be serious. Our Princess has a bad feeling that something shall occur soon, and tis’ not in her or our favour.” As soon as Wylla finished the sentence, Oswell spun back to me and gave me all his attention. 

“What feeling do you speak of Princess? Do you feel ill like before?” Probably jumping to the conclusion of the Dragons.

Shaking my head lightly, I reply. “Nay, Oswell. Not like before - rest assure about that never occurring again. I . . . All I feel is unease, as though something foreboding is to happen, and it will happen soon.” Sighing I look back towards the Godswood and feel the tugging within my chest growing stronger. “I know naught of what is to happen, but all I know is soon - _very soon_ \- I will -”

“ - _We_ will.”

“ _We_ will be leaving soon. Sonax, Perzyx and Vezox are growing too fast. I had already predicted moons ago that they would grow larger, but not at this pace. They are growing _too_ fast; it will start to become a hindrance to hide them away from the castle people and the smallfolk. Sonax has even begun to take flight!” Speaking as I made my way back to painted, carved map table, holding Rhoynar-ma's hand the entire time. Leaning against the table I feel the presence of Wylla and Oswell behind my person, Father at the other end head of the table with Martyn behind his Lord Liege. Arthur stood to the left of the table. 

“Alarra?”

“Princess?”

Father and Arthur spoke at the same time. They straightened from the table and waited for m answer.

Sighing I repeat what I told Rhoynar-ma and Oswell. Father and Arthur, knowing better than to question my feelings or thoughts after all that has occurred, silently looked to one another and nodded. I bring up my concern of the Dragons (watching Father grimace momentarily) growing far too fast and that we will either need to make them known to the North people or to migrate. 

Of course, Father shut down the latter idea of mine.

“No, Alarra. Five Houses of the North have already pledged themselves to you. The True Army has already begun to ready themselves with the spread of the Farmers, though it is in quiet.” Father comes around the table and I meet him half away. “You, Alarra, will never need not fear the notion of leaving Winterfell, let alone the North.” 

Father kissed my crown and embraced me tightly, and I returned it.

“I swear it, my wolf.”

“I believe you, Father.”

_If only you or I could take back those words, Father._

**297 AC. | Godswood | Three Days Later**

“ . . . I . . .” Shock and acknowledgement settling into my very bones. 

Father had just been informed by Lady Stark that his Former Foster Father and Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had died. 

The royal family were journeying North and were not far from making their presence known within the castle’s walls. 

_Old Gods, I knew it. Bloody Weirwood, I knew it! Peace would not last long._

“How long?” I whispered.

Father stood tall in front of me, yet I could see this news weighed upon him tremendously. Guilt had swallowed his face, as he sighed. “A fortnight at best, Alarra . . . I am sorry.”

_A fortnight . . ._

“By the Gods,” I breathe. My face hopefully not giving away to my own true emotions. 

_There are two main reasons for Baratheon to ride this far North._

The dull beating thud of his claws on snow covered ground came from Perzyx, who was irritated at the audacity of whomever made me feel this horror. Visibly hot, huffs of breath were seen in the cold air, with her tail whipping back and forth in vigour, for Vezox fended off my feelings of panic by reassuring me she was there to fight off whomever. Sonax fed off my need to stay calm by flapping and spreading wide her pink and translucent wings in warning for her siblings to stay silent and to settle down. 

There was no need to draw unwanted attention.

Turning away from Father to crouch down my tall frame, Perzyx was the first to run into my arms as I enclosed them around his body and folded wings, with his head resting against directly under my chin. Vezox, having had enough of her Brother taking away too much of my attention, moved to my right so fast I only realised she was snuggled against me once her weight settled and her face rested against my cheek. Laying a kiss on both my Grey and Red Bonded Dragons as they continued to calm, I turned my loving gaze upon Sonax’s larger frame, beckoning her through our connection of Rider and Mount. My Weirwood painted Dragon spread her wings wide once more, enveloping me and her siblings firmly with her wings and resting her narrow head atop of my own. 

_My, you certainly have a grip, Sonax._

_Thank you, Kipagīros . . ._

Knowing they were settled and content, I move my gaze back to Father. Smiling, though I knew this was one of the final moments I would ever share with him. 

For now.

“I am sorry about Lord Jon Arryn, Father. You only spoke words of honour and good when it came to him. I am sorry for his passing . . . Though Father, I thought you had always spoken of his spring health despite his age?” My words true and honest, for if I were in Fathers boots and Jon Arryn had been Rhoynar-ma . . .

_Old Gods know what I would be feeling._

_Let alone do._

“Thank you, my pup. You do not know what your words of condolence mean,” Father replies. He moves to sit on a fallen tree stub not far from where I continued crouched with Dragons on the verge of sleeping. 

I feel the tip of my nose tingle. 

_Ghost was coming._

_M’leth anam, I felt unease._

_Aye, something . . . a change has come._

_Hurry, Ghost. Your Bràithrean teine are in need of comfort._

_We are coming, M’leth anam . . ._

_Thank you . . ._

“‘Larra? I lost you there,” Father bring back to the present. 

_I need to work on that._

“Sorry Father, Ghost is nearby. We were . . . conversing.” Wearily I explained. Father knew I could communicate to Ghost and Sonax in a completely different way than the rest of the Dires and their human halves. Tis’ was far too complicated for Father to fathom, so I explained as minimally and simple as possible and yet Father still did not understand, yet he accepted it.

“Oh,” he lightly huffs a gruff chuckle. His eyes creasing on the ends and his brooding brow lifting.

“I would explain Father, though I fear you would fall asleep on the tree stub, _or_ , you would have a permanent headache for the rest of your life.” Teasingly my words were said. 

As light and happy I tried to make the situation, Father saw straight through me, as only he could do. He understood I was trying to make light of the very dire situation we had been placed in, and I knew he knew, this may be one of the final times we would spend together. Hearing the thunder of Seven grown Direwolves racing towards where we stood. Lifting the three still liftable Dragons within my arms, Sonax clinging to the material of the back of my worn, plain, grey dress. I explain to Father my thoughts. 

“Father, there are only two reasons why _they_ journey North for Winterfell: a new Hand to the King . . . and an alliance. An alliance that could only be solidified by marriage . . . Robb should marry a Northern girl, tis’ logical and would appease the Northern Lords and Ladies from his Southern looks. I was thinking a Mormont or Manderly. Mayhap’s a Karstark.” I laugh at the questioning look Father gives me; all I do in turn is bashfully shrug. “Do not question my ideas, Father. I have had time to think over them, tenfold. You and I both know the Lords of the North were not happy when your Father made the match to House Tully. Then there is Robb’s Tully colouring, though I nor you care about what colour his eyes or hair is - _they do._ Which has always made Robb feel inferior, though he would never admit it to you or anyone.”

“Except you, pup,” Father sighs, shaking his head lightly.

“Aye. Except me . . . Sansa should be married to the first son of House Manderly if Lady Stark were to accept a Northern match for her. Tyrell or Martell if we are speaking of the South. If Sansa were wedded to the appropriate man, she will thrive and be happy. She naught be just a broodmare . . . She deserves happiness, as does Arya.” Sighing, I try to narrow my thoughts accordingly.

I feel Perzyx wanting to be put down, so I do as he asks, and once down Perzyx crawls in haste towards the sound of the Direwolves gaining upon us, squealing in excitement and flapping his wings, curiously watching as he made it about a foot off ground before he clumsily landed. Vezox takes advantage of her Red Brothers absence and huddles her Two-foot, One-inch body into both of my free arms. Sonax rubs her cheek against my own as I lean into her, before she too takes flight momentarily before landing to the ground, moving towards Perzyx to watch with him, for the arrival of the Direwolves. 

_All three will be flying soon enough._

“Arya is far too young to be betrothed yet and so is Bran. Rickon is just a pup . . .” I knew I was trying to postpone the inevitable, but I needed to say it, otherwise Father would continue to sit with me among the tall oak trees. 

Looking at the man who I have only known as Father for Five and Ten years of my Six and Ten years of my life, I sniffle my next words. 

_For once these words are said, it will all become real._

_I will set in stone my leaving the only place I have known as home._

Nodding and clearing my voice, I speak.

“Inform Rhoynar-ma, Father. Arthur and Oswell, also. We will need to start making preparations for our travel. We will have to prepare smuggle the Dragons as inconspicuous as possible. Tis’ will do no good raising suspicion to those within Winterfell. If . . .” I felt the weight of my next words weigh upon me like a Giant clung to my back. 

“If your Lady Wife or others ask, Father. Say I will be traveling to Bear Island for the remainder of the Kings stay,” I say, shaking my head lightly, for I taste the taste of dirt upon my tongue at the lie I will force my Father to say. A lie, all in my name. “Say tis’ not to bring shame to House Stark as I’m being a Bastard and all.”

“Alarra, you know-”

“Tis’ no other choice, _Papa_ ,” my voice cracks with unshed sobs. “We have been . . . _you_ have been forced to play the game _now_ , Father. A King, not a Foster Brother or old friend, _a King_ journeys North to Winterfell to force you into making a choice. A decision that will affect not only you, but your children and their Mother. Duty or Family; that is the hand you will be dealt. You have said so many times before, Father; _Starks do not fare well South of the Neck_. Heed your own words. You either win or die playing this game, and you know that better than anyone. Remember that.” 

“Tis’ no game, Alarra,” Father spoke gruffly and grave. I know he too was upset about the notion of my leaving, but tis’ would better for _everyone_. 

Myself included.

“No, I know tis’ not a game. But those who journey North. Those who live in the Red Keep. Those, who only live for power and greed. _They_ are the ones who believe tis’ all a folly and something to laugh about. Something to be bled today and forgotten tomorrow. But not us!” I exclaim.

“Going South will be your downfall, Papa. You are too honourable and honest for that cesspool of forever withering Vipers. They will bite and inject their poison into you until you fester. Just . . . Promise me you will do what is necessary for the right reasons.” I finish.

Father looked at me wide eyed momentarily and paled. “‘Larra-”

“Promise me.” I repeat. Not budging or giving Father the chance to explain anything else.

“In this very moment, you remind me so much of your Mother, Alarra. Know she would be proud . . . I will. I promise to you, I will.” Father moves off the stump and walks towards me, not getting too close because of the sleeping Vezox on my chest.

_Tis’ must be the first time ever in my life he has ever said that._

_I remind him of my Mother._

“Good,” I huff with a smirk, trying to stop the fall of my tears. 

“Do you know where you will be going?”

“I . . . have a good assumption. They were loyal to House Targaryen from the start. I can only pray that my logic and gut, line together in my favour.” 

“I- . . .” Slightly choking at the tears stuck within my throat. “ _I’ll_ speak with Robb and Arya. They, ah . . . They would rather have me tell them, so would you please-”

“I will send them to your chambers, Alarra.”

"Thank you, Father.” Leaning forward, I drop my head upon Father’s shoulder. He in turn places his hand on my unoccupied shoulder and squeezes. 

By the time the Direwolves, the Dragons and I were seated, Father had long left to retreat back to the castle. I needed time to remember home for a few more moments on my own, surrounded by nothing but purrs, fur and scales.

_Let me reminisce my own innocence._

_Let me reminisce my old self._

_Let me reminisce the life of what was once, Alarra Snow._

Clearing my throat, I lean back against the tall, old oak tree surrounded by my Pack of Dragon and Wolves. Letting free my reminiscing. 

“[ ** _High_**](https://gameofthrones.fandom.com/wiki/Jenny_of_Oldstones) _in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

[ **_Jenny_ ** ](https://soundcloud.com/florence-the-machine/jenny-of-oldstones-game-of) _would dance with her ghosts . . .”_

**297 AC. | Alarra’s Chambers | Robb**

“What!?” I shout.

_This cannot be! I will not let it!_

“Robb please, calm down. I know this is . . . shocking, but I have always known this was to happen one day, far before I found out the truth.” Alarra says lightly. Her words being the voice of reason once again, speaking so calm as always. 

“But you are my Sister, ‘Larra! I always promised you wouldn’t have to leave Winterfell as long as I was living! You have done naught to deserve leaving the one place you have only known-” I can’t stop them as they spill from my eyes. Alarra had always had a way of provoking the best within oneself, and she was doing so now without her needing to do nothing but speak. 

_I have already accepted you’re leaving, little Sister, because you have._

Alarra, always not being able to handle seeing me in tears moved to me in her graceful haste, that only she could achieve. She envelopes me in her arms tight as I rest my head against her shoulder, she follows my lead and leans her own head against my shoulder. She strokes my mane of red hair as I tighten my hold. 

_I don’t want this to be true. Why must this happen?_

“Robb, please you must calm down. You will make yourself sick like this.”

“How can I when I have been told my first and best friend, my cot mate and _Twin_ _Sister_ is leaving,” I sobbed. “How can you be so calm, Alarra?”

“If I were not leaving now because of Baratheon, I would be leaving because of a betrothal, Robb. Though I may not have grown up being a Lady, it was always expected by us to wed into Houses that will better the family.” Again, her words were of sense and realistic. 

_Alarra was always destined to leave Winterfell. Not because of her true name, but because she was a girl._

“If I could, I would have it you, Sansa and Arya never leave Winterfell,” I breathed. Sniffling my tears as Alarra continued to stroke my back.

“I know you would, Robb. But the hand we have been dealt has forced our hand.” She pulled me away from her and wiped away my tears and smartened my hair just like she has always done. I can still remember falling over and scarping my knees in the Godswood and her doing the same thing. I would even plait her hair before we would play and would cheer her up whenever people spoke of her wrong. 

_We were each other’s protectors._

_We were always there to parry the invisible dagger to our backs._

_And now she won't be there._

“Look at me, little Brother,” she teases, hanging her arms on both my shoulders. We were both of same height, something I begrudged and liked because it only fuelled my view, that the Old Gods had designed Alarra to be my twin Sister. A twin sister to me no matter who her Mother had been, and now whomever her Mother _and_ Father had been. 

Alarra Snow or Princess Visenya Targaryen; name matters not. She was my sister from the very first day Father had placed her in my cot, she shall forever be my Sister in this life and the many after. 

“Oi, _you’re_ the youngest. Not I,” I wetly sniffle. 

She giggles melodic giggle. She guides me to sit next to her upon her small bed, she breathes and sighs out loud. I knew she was feeling the tension and weight of all that is happening, but I knew she would never share it.

Not even to me. 

“One day, Brother. One day we will look back upon this time and laugh at how pathetically panicked and scared we were,” she tiredly giggles and I huff a chuckle also. “We will look back at how sad and depressed we were and think: ‘we were smart to feel scared, panicked and depressed’. Do you know why, Robb?” Alarra questions. 

“Aye, I know. It shows that we were smart to feel so.”

“Ahh . . . It seems my little Brother has started using the meat between his ears.” Alarra mockingly taps my head while I try to flick her hand away. “Oh, get off!” I laugh. 

We do stop our antics, now watching the flames of hearth, silently as the licks of orange and yellow. Alarra sighs once more before she gets up and moves to the trunk that used to hold the Dragon eggs. When she opens the trunk, pulls something out and comes to sit back down next to me, I look at her confused as she holds pieces of parchments within her hands.

“‘Larra, what’s this?” I turn my body to face her and give her my attention as her expression shifts to one of seriousness.

_She definitely has the Stark brow._

“These papers here, Robb, are ones of grave importance, alright? They must not be found in the hands of anyone whose name is not born Stark, until the time is right. Though these are copies written in my hand, these documents are of my birth certificate, my parents’ marriage, Princess Elia’s consent and acceptance of the marriage and more importantly, a list.”

“A list? Of what, ‘Larra?”

“A list of people to not trust, Robb. Northern and Southern.”

_What!?_

“Alarra-” I lightly laugh and was going to question, but she stops me with the lift of her brow.

_By the Gods. She is serious._

“Yes, this is gravely serious Robb, you must swear it you will always keep this list on your person at all times. I have had nearly half a year to examine and re-examine the names on this list, yet I feel I have done good, narrowing them down. So, do you promise me you shall never show this list to no one whose name was not born Stark. Do you promise?” Alarra questions. Her purple eyes serious and brow dipped.

“Aye. I, Robb Stark, son of House Stark promises you, Visenya Targaryen, daughter of House Targaryen. I shall keep this list on my person at all times until I die, if I must, and will not be shown to anyone whose name was not born Stark. I promise.”

“. . . Well, that was quite serious, but, alright.” She says before bursting out laughing and I too follow her. 

_Gods, we were both too young to be playing the games of adults._

_But let us bask in this innocence for now._

**297 AC. | Winterfell | Abandon Cellar | Arya**

“What!?” Failing to block the wooden sword as it comes down, lightly tapping me on my side, as I was far too bloody distracted with what Alarra had told me. 

“Arya,” her big Sister scolds me lightly for not blocking her strike, but I could really give a damn about that when I have just been told my best friend and Sister is leaving. 

And she doesn’t know when she will back!

“‘Larra! What do you mean you don't know when you will be back! Of course, you're coming back stupid-”

“Arya, calm yourself. This is the reason why I have brought you down here to spar. You need to _not_ let your emotions get the better of you, no matter what.”

“Sorry . . . I - I - Alarra!” I throw the wooden sword to the floor and leap for her. Before I knew it, I am enclosed in her strong arms and I was already weeping. I don’t know how long I had been crying into the neck of my big Sister, all I knew was my throat was sore, my eyes aches and the top of Alarra’s shoulder and dress was damp with my tears. All Alarra did was walk with me in her arms and stroked my hair, cooing and soothing my worries with her words. 

We ended up on the floor, leaning against the grey stoned walls, in between two burning torches. Alarra was playing with my hair as I laid my back into her front, plaiting it and then undoing it before plaiting it again.

“You know I have to leave, Arya. It was inevitable. Whether it be the Dragons or me being a daughter of a High Lord, even if I am a Bastard,” Alarra sighs, heavily. 

“Don’t say that. It’s just stupid,” I mumble, whilst I play with the material of my big Sister’s breeches. “We didn’t ask that fat, oaf of a King to journey to Winterfell. It’s just unfair that you have to be forced to leave! It’s not like the Dr - the babies - have done anything. All they do is eat, play, practice trying to fly or breathing fire and that’s it.” I spin in my place and straddle Alarra’s legs, looking at her eye-to-eye. 

Grey meeting purple.

_I had never questioned her eye colour. Neither had anyone else._

Alarra cradles my face in her soft but calloused hands. She wipes away at the new trails of tears, kissing my eye lids and hugging me close, tucking my head under chin. 

“I will always be with you Arya,” her sister whispers. Just so it is between me and her. “I will be in your heart. You will be in mine. I will be in your thoughts and words as you shall be in mine.”

“But I want you with me, in front of me, next me for the rest of my life.” Hoarsely my words came as I begin to cry so harshly. My heart hurts from the pain of never having to see her again.

_How will I survive without you, ‘Larra?_

“Oh, sweet Shadow of mine. Do you know how my heart hurts, Arya?” I feel wetness slowly seep on to my hair.

_She was crying. Alarra was crying._

“Don’t cry, ‘Larra, I’m sorry-”

“Shh, my little Sister. Never apologise for my love for you. You and only you are able to make me cry, Arya. Though you were only a babe, you accepted my laughs, stories, fighting and singing from the very start. I have loved you as fierce as a Sister could _ever_. I will continue to be in front of you, next to you, for the rest of yours and my own life. But for this short period of time, promise. Promise me to always hold me in your heart as I, shall you? Promise to never forget me.”

“I will bloody swear it in front of the Weirwood tree, ‘Larra! I love you so much big Sister. I swear I will never forget you; mind or heart.”

“Mind and heart, I shall never forget and shall always love you, little Sister.”

I felt the gasps of tears from Alarra’s chest. I heard the whimpering from my big Sister as we both clutched each other. I tasted the heart ache above all else. 

By the time we had calmed and had come to terms with our fates, Alarra had presented me a wrapped present; a Braavosi sword. It was small but compatible for my height is what Alarra said. 

She asked what I would name it: “for all famous swords have names, little Sister.” As she stroked my hair away from my face.

“That’s the name. I’ll name it like your sword!”

“What’s that?”

“ ‘Big Sister’. ” Feeling the tears fall from my eyes for the hundredth time within the past few hours.

_Alarra’s sword was named Little Sister, in honour of me though it was a Bastard Length sword. Oddly enough, Alarra had also called her sword ‘Little Sister’ because of Visenya Targaryen’s sword; Dark Sister._

_I too will honour you with naming my sword after you, big Sister._

“If and when you wield it, First Shadow. Wield it to protect yourself and the family.”

“I promise.” Kneeling, she whispered into my hair as she silently wept. She made me promise to always be there for Bran and Rickon, while she wasn’t. 

Always listen to Father and Robb. 

_Try_ to get along with Sansa and her Mother. 

_Urgh . . ._

Most importantly: “practice as much as possible with Big Sister, little Sister.”

“ _Always . . .”_

**297 AC. | Winterfell Courtyard | Catelyn**

_She was leaving._

_The Seven have finally answered her prayers._

The very stain of my Lord Husbands infidelity when he marched South with the very man who is journeying North, is leaving Winterfell. Though it shall only be as long as the Royal Family are within the walls of Winterfell. The girl shall return from Bear Island and all will go back to as it were. Maege Mormont always did have a soft spot for the girl. Whenever she would visit, she would always bring one of her many daughters to foster a friendship with the girl. 

And she did. 

Though the girl had many acquaintances within and out of Winterfell, she was only close to few; the Ser’s that journeyed with her from Dorne, the Sand Bastard who she called Mother, my own children. Ned and then the handful of Lords and Lady of the North who journeyed with Ned to bring back Lyanna Stark . . .

_Mayhap’s I could finally convince Ned to marry her off._

_A Karstark third son should be an appropriate match._

Shaking my head from my darker thoughts, as I catch the dark, curly mass of hair from below. I watch as Alarra Snow carries both of my younger sons within both of her arms, quietly whispering soothing words as they clutch her and continue to sob without care. Her eldest Robb, who had always been a happy child, now wore a face of grief and angst. His eyes were swollen and red, even as high and far away as I am, one can clearly see he had too, been crying.

Her Third born and second Daughter followed behind the girl, unsurprisingly, holding the back of the girls black, boiled leather jerkin over her black, long sleeved tunic, with the Stark emblem on the front, in the colours of her beast. White with red eyes. It had been a name day present to the girl from Lord Dustin this year, one of the few that journeyed South with Ned. It had been the reason him, the other Lords and Maege had journeyed to Winterfell in haste, though it had been odd for them to arrive past midnight without notifying their Lord Liege. Or the fact they did not present Robb with a gift as well, though her son did not care on the matter.

She watched as Arya, just as teary eyed as her Brothers, was oddly enough comforting Rickon and Bran. Her half boy, half wolf Daughter was trying to entertain her younger Brothers by trying to pull funny and un-Lady-like faces to cheer them up. She was failing in her endeavour, however, to cheer them, as she watched her only dark-haired child's face crumble into tears, before she would roughly wipe them away and try to smile, once again. 

_That girl has caused this to my children._

_She has brought them this sadness._

Then there was her Lord Husband.

Having been wedded for Seven and Ten years with Five children to show for it, seeing various stages of happiness, sadness and anguish, she had never seen her Husband so . . . lost. To others he looked like his own Direwolf waiting to attack; angry and furious. But to those who knew him, he looked so broken. 

Broken because of this girl. Broken and miserable because of a promise he made to a nameless woman who had birthed this Bastard Daughter. She was only leaving for a fortnight. 

_Or hopefully she does not return and will become lost along her journey . . ._

Catelyn looks to the sky’s and then down once more saying a silent prayer of forgiveness to the Seven for her decrepit thoughts, this girl brought her to.

She watched on as Alarra Snow tried cheering up her half-siblings by swing the boys in her arms. Squeals and giggles of her name were what filled the cold, frigid air. One would not suspect it was mid Spring, this far North. She watched as Alarra Snow seated Bran and Rickon on the bannister of the 

_At least she held love for her children._

Over the years she had been fearful that Alarra Snow was only fostering relations with her children to use that kinship to usurp them. However, the Bastard girl had proved Catelyn wrong by the age of Nine name days. All the girl ever wanted was a Mother, Father and siblings. 

_And I could not love nor care for a Motherless child._

Catelyn will forever hold the burden of praying death upon Alarra Snow, when she had fallen ill with fever. She prayed within the Sept, that Ned had built outside Winterfell for her, day and night to the Seven, that the girl would just simply die and be a bitter memory. But the Snow girl proved her wrong when she fought through the fever, and came out as hail as ever. 

Ned knew about these dark prayers of mine and for moons he did not share our chambers until I apologised and was forgiven. Despite the forgiveness, it had been years before we had another and our last child; Rickon.

Ned had been very clear about one matter; _the actions of a parent should never be judged upon the child_. I remember those words so clearly. Ned had spoken those words when I had made my own way to the nursery and had seen, that within Robb's cot laid with him was the dark-haired stain on her life and marriage.

Catelyn would never admit it, but she could see the girl was genuine in her love for her half-siblings and Father. Alarra Snow respected and enjoyed the cooks, cleaners, blacksmiths, and the Townspeople as much as Catelyn despised the girl. Her Stark brow that was prominent with Four of her own children. She had watched the girl grow taller, stronger, and more beautiful as the years went by despite the amount of effort, she herself, had put in to trying to break the girl down and make her life as miserable as possible. 

_My Septa had always said the Gods made Bastards more beautiful to tempt the honourable._

Any physical punishments Catelyn had bestowed the girl would be answered with the Stark frown, silence, and a neutral expression, by the girl. She would never lash out. The last time Catelyn had struck the girl was the last time for a reason; it was met the swift unsheathing of swords from the dark-haired Knights and a _very_ deathly warning from the tallest of the two, who had a tan to his skin that no number of years in the North could rid of. It was also the first and final time her Husband had raised his voice to her in the confinements of his Solar.

After that, Catelyn barely if not rarely paid the knights any more attention, and accepted the fact they would only leave once the girl left.

Whilst she drowned in her past doings, her Tully eyes watched on as Alarra Snow spoke soothingly with her younger three sat next to each other on the wooden wagon. Rickon seated in the middle whilst her second Son and Daughter wrapped their arms around their littlest Brother. She saw the bottom lip of her youngest, wildest child as he mumbled words she could not make, but she could faintly hear the words being spoken to the children.

“ . . . aye, I promise you, my littlest Shadow, I will write to you as soon as I am able to find parchment and ink. Old gods, I will write with my own finger if I must!”

“Woo!” He shouts as he throws his small fist into the air. “Tol’ you Bran! Tol’ you ‘Larra would sen’ me a ‘Waven. She can sen’ me a hand drawing, aye, ‘Larra!?” Her youngest grinned and laughed outload, finally overcoming his initial sadness when Snow tickled, picked him up and spun him in the air.

“Ahaha! I will send you and only you a dozen hand drawing’s, my littlest Shadow,” wiping away the tears trails on his toddler cheeks. The girl turned to a still wet eyed Bran. “Look me in the eyes, Brandon Stark. I, Alarra Snow and whatever names I may also hold, swear to you today on my honour as a Daughter of Stark, will return to you before long. I shall write to you of my journey, findings and stories Four times a fortnight.” As her words came to a stop, it was her dark-haired Daughter her threw herself into her arms as Bran wipes away at his tears and nods happily. Arya did not cry but Catelyn could see she clutched hard and squeezed her eyes tightly as to not cry. 

Alarra set down Rickon upon the wagon next to Bran when Shaggydog, Summer and Nymeria appeared. As the girl stroked Arya’s dark hair, the Two Knights of hers appeared, each carrying quite large, wooden trunks, and a third had already been carried in by Robb and Ned. She quietly ordered the ‘gifts’ to be placed side-by-side next to each other. A smaller trunk had been carried and placed by Wylla Sand; another Bastard Ned had brought up North from Dorne. 

_I hope those gifts came from her own pocket and not the Households._

Catelyn had always suspected the Snow girl’s Mother had been the Dornish womans, but the only resemblance the girl and woman had, were the colour and curls of their hairs. Then Catelyn had suspected Ashara Dayne. A very beautiful Lady who her Husband had fallen in love with at the Tourney of Harrenhal, when she herself had been betrothed to Ned’s eldest Brother, Brandon Stark. 

There were only a handful of Houses in Westeros that had eyes of purple and Dayne was the most obvious one from which the girl had been conceived by. Ashara and Ned had shared a love in Harrenhal, she knew and saw that herself while she had been besotted by Brandon Stark, they would steal glances and touches from each other every night of the Tourney.

Yet Ned would never speak to her of it, and never will. 

After some time, her Husband and children, including a slightly saddened Sansa, stood next one another in a line. Alarra Snow had donned her all-black cloak and fur collar, still carrying a now sleeping Arya and holding the hand of a surprisingly solemn Rickon, and it seemed within those moments the entirety of Winterfell’s help had gathered to bid farewell to Alarra Snow of House Stark. Alarra Snow passed an exhausted-from-crying Arya to her Father’s arms. 

Ned kissed her brow firmly and embraced her even with Arya still in his clutch.

Robb embraced her after very hushed words were spoken in secret and they both kissed each other’s brow. 

Sansa, very shockingly, threw herself excitedly into her half Snow Sister and began to speak in haste about writing to her about her journeys and when she returns, she could teach Sansa how to play her Mandolin, finally. 

_We shall see about that._

Sansa continued to thank her for the eye-opening talk they had had. Her mirror image promised to head her words and to always follow them in future. Alarra Snow softly kissed the crown of Sansa and softly whispered her promise. 

Bran stood, shoulders slumped, and head bowed. Alarra crouched down and placed her hand under his and moved it so they were eye-to-eye. The words spoken between them were too quiet for Catelyn to hear, but she saw how he began to grow cheerier and happy. Alarra Snow looked over her youngest boys’ shoulder and pointed with her head towards my person, saying something which in turn had Bran nodding. Her second Son turned over his shoulder and smiled, before throwing his arms around Alarra, which enticed her youngest and wildest child to jump to her also. 

After she rocked Rickon in her arms as he littered kisses around the face of the Pale girl, who in turn giggled melodically. After she animatedly spoke into Rickon’s ears as though it were a secret, she passed him to Robb who wordlessly spilt tears, but Alarra Snow shook her head and wiped them away. 

Arya having woke up from the commotion, slowly opened her eyes to find her Father’s face. Panicked, she begins to look for Alarra, who was already there waiting.

“I wasn’t going to leave without saying farewell, little Sister. Come her my eldest Shadow.” Ned placed her down and Arya clutched at her readily. 

“Promise me, you’ll come back, ‘Larra. Promise!” 

“Hey, hey, hey. No more of these tears. We have already seen these, and if you continue, I will cry.” The Snow teasingly spoke, though her own brow began to crumple. 

_She had always loved Arya the most._

“Okay, okay. See no more tears,” her dark-haired girl breathed as bravely as she could. 

The dark-haired Bastard shallowly breathed and swallowed. 

“Good. Now remember to-”

“Be kind to Sansa and Mother. Protect and watch over Bran and Ricky - and to listen to Robb and Father!” Arya rushes the word in haste and sad happiness

_Did the girl really ask this off, Arya?_

“Good, that’s my girl! But remember to . . .” She trails her words and leans into whisper. Once she finishes, she moves away from Arya’s face and kisses her eyes lids and hair. 

Arya and Alarra’s hands only break apart once Alarra moves away and straps her Northern Steel sword to her back, having been passed to her by the tallest of her Two Knights, whilst the other sat readily upon his own steed.

_No Lady should weild a sword!_

Ned was sending Twenty of the Household Guards from Hunter’s Gate, who had been hand-picked by the girl and Ned when Catelyn had inquired why the Stable Master was readying a specific number of horses, some days before. Two of the soldiers were already seated at the front of the wagon to steer, whilst Wylla Sand and two other guards fastened the harnesses over the three large trunks and the smaller one. 

_The very bane of my marriage and existence has left, though it may only be a fortnight._

With Ten guards in front of the Wagon, the girl and her two Knights behind the wagon and the eight guards behind them, Alarra Snow finally left Winterfell. 

_Alarra Snow has left Winterfell . . ._

**297 AC. | Lords Solar | Ned | Day Before Leaving**

_Forgive me Lya . . ._

_I promised you and yet I cannot uphold that promise no longer._

_She is as stubborn, and level minded as you and him._

“Father? Are you alright?” The being of that slightly deep, soothing voice appeared in front of me on the opposite side of the large, dark, oak desk. Her face so much like . . . _his_ , but with her hair dyed for so long as she has been born, you can see the uncanny resemblance to that of her Mother. She had Lya’s thickness in hair. She had Lyanna’s wildness when it came to life, those she held dear and sword play. She had her Mother’s nose and smile. 

The rest she took after her fa - . . . Him. She had the Rhoynish or Dornish hair, for he had never seen or met a Northerner with curly hair. She had his high cheeks. His chin, his eyes shape and eyes, his jaw and even his solemn gaze. A gaze that made her look far too old for her tender age, especially when she had been but a child of Five years. Everyone had thankfully, Catelyn especially, thought Alarra had her Fathers brooding look, when really, she did.

Rhaegar Targaryen. Her Father. 

_Her true Father._

_Yet she has only known me as her Father._

Looking down to my desk and ridding myself of the dark thoughts, I nod. “Aye. I’m alright, pup.” Feeling the tug of a smile upon my face when I see her grin and quietly giggle that melodic giggle. 

“‘Pup’, my Father calls me,” she rolls her eyes as she folds and encloses the letters within her hand

_Old Gods forgive me for the warmth and happiness I feel when she continues to call me Father._

“I am of Six and Ten years now Father. No pup no longer.” She smirks. 

_She is a year older than you had been when you had brought her into this world, Lya._

_Old Gods, where has the time gone?_

“Aye, that may be so, but to a parent, one’s child will always be but a child in their eyes . . .” Alarra looks up from where she had sealed the parchment with red wax. She looks chocked and if not woeful. I walk around the desk as she swallows and blows upon the moulded wax. Alarra moves with me to the Window where Sea, a black Raven sat upon its stand. 

“It only feels like a fortnight ago I held you against my breast atop of a horse, journeying home with Two Kingsguard, a base-born Daughter of House Martell and my trusted Seven friends . . . and your Mother.” The old feeling of tears welling in the depth of my throat. Alarra now stood still, her back facing me and her head bowed, hearing the light sniffle.

“Oh, my girl,” I say. She had by then turned, throwing herself into my arms as she had always done whenever I would be away from Winterfell. 

“Oh, do not fret, Father. Only Arya Stark has the honour of bringing me to tears, Papa, and she already has. You raised a strong Daughter out of me. You have raised me in your image when you had no need to and I will forever be in dept to you and yours.” She mumbled into my neck.

“Me and mine are yours also, my girl. You are just as much a Stark as those who bear the name. You are a Daughter of the North as much anyone. You are as much _my Daughter_ as Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon.” Whispering the words of with firmness and assurance, as I hugged Alarra Snow for what may be the last time. 

_The last time I held my eldest Daughter within my arms and against my breast._

Just the mere thought made my heart clench and ache, I struggled to hold back the sheer number of emotions and so I hold her tighter and kiss her crown. “Old Gods bless you, Father. For true. These are not tearing of sadness, but of happiness and acceptance.” 

Moments went by before we let go of each other. I watched as Alarra Snow attached the signed and sealed letter to Stark. “Stay safe, dear Sea. Fly in haste back home, so your Master knows he has a party arriving soon.” Whispered were the words as though it was a secret and tender were the strokes upon its feathers, before the black Raven jumped off the purple eyed girls’ arm and swept through the winds in the direction of South East.

The girl breathed and watched the Raven until it disappeared from the eye. When the girl turned, no longer was she Alarra Snow, Bastard Daughter of my loin and a stain on my honour, born in the heat of Dorne by a nameless Mother.

In her stead, the Daughter of Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark, a woman grown, true-born and far more noble than any being could ever be stood in front of him. In her stead, Visenya Targaryen, who _will_ become First of her name and Queen to all Seven Kingdoms that made Westeros stood calm and relieved. 

Visenya Targaryen was ready. 

_But she will forever be my dark haired, Alarra._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> | How I Worked out the Lengths |
> 
> I honestly have no bloody clue LOL! No-no-no. Tell a lie, I do. 
> 
> All I did was go on Google, typed in: ‘60 weeks x 2 inches in per week’ and viola! 
> 
> 3.05m (3.04800m but I just rounded up the ‘4’ to ‘5’ due to the ‘8’ because I am extra like that) and converted that into Foot using Google also. 
> 
> 3.05 x 3.281 (3.281 is the length value you need to multiply if you want to convert something from Metres to Foot) = 10.00705ft. (Though mind you, I just had Google handle the mathematics behind it as I am Sugar Honey Ice Tea about maths.)
> 
> By the end of 297 AC. Sonax will be 10ft in length and Perzyx and Vezox will be 9.6ft, so not far behind but a slightly noticeable difference. Maybe it is due to to Aegon the First, the Weirwood sap combined with Alarra/Visenya’s blood that is making them grow at a faster rate, than that of Daenerys’s Trinity. 
> 
> As an example, when Dany first rode Drogon in S4 of GOT, he had been approximately 27ft in length, and I would estimate Rhaegal and Viserion to be not far behind at 20-23ft. However, Rhae and Vis may have probably had a slight height stunt when being chained away, under the Pyramids. 
> 
> Alarra/Visenya’s Trinity will grow twice as quick than Dany’s i.e.  
> Sonax/Drogon  
> End of 297 AC. | 10ft+ / Not Hatched Yet.  
> End of 298 AC. | 20ft+/20 Inches of more  
> End 0f 299 AC. | 40ft+/10ft+  
> End of 300 AC. | 80ft+/20ft+  
> Etc . . .
> 
> I am not saying the bigger the better, yet . . . the bigger the stronger. Also, I am definitely writing the Dragons as if they were just like any other animal; they are influenced by their human. Meaning, any actions, thoughts or words Alarra/Visenya makes, will influence all three Dragons’. Though, she can only communicate the way she does with Ghost towards Sonax as both understand they will become Rider and Mount Dragon.
> 
> Also, Rhaegal and Viserion will too, be smaller in size in comparison to Perzyx and Vezox. 
> 
> Oh! Keep in mind that Dany doesn’t hatch her Dragons until 298 AC. and I am keeping it as such, in this fic. 
> 
> THANKS FOR READING! I DO HOPE YOU ENJOYED PART 7! THANK YOU FOR THE KUDOS'S AND COMMENTS (NEGATIVE AND POSITIVE!)


	8. Chapter 1 : Part 8   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HATE WORKING AT MCDONALDS!
> 
> Wahe Guru!
> 
> Get this. On my first day two women were cussing me and speaking bad about me for TWO HOURS in a language I speak and understand (as I speak it daily with my Grandmother and the rest of the elders in my family). I waited two whole hours until my break came up and then ask them politely: "what time is it?" in THAT LANGUAGE!
> 
> Readers, when I tell, the faces! The expressions! LMAO!
> 
> They stopped talking smack about me to my face, but the walls only know if they still do so behind my back. 
> 
> I do not like my work, but I am doing so to appease my family, who just won't get off my back about getting a job, and now i have a job that I do not like. But I am applying for more until i can find one to do with my HR degree.
> 
> Until then, however, i shall now be posting every Saturday now, because of my weekday hours. 
> 
> But enough by my sodding life!
> 
> This takes place hours after Part 7!
> 
> It is a tame Part so there is not much action.
> 
> Yet, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal_in_training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**297 AC. | The North | Between Winterfell & White Harbour | Alarra.**

“My Queen,” Dacey spoke. 

Did she curtsy? No, Dacey would rather throw herself neck first in the block before that would ever take place. 

Did she bow? Nay, she did not. 

No. No, her best friend (outside of her siblings) bloody well fell down to one knee, bowed her head and clutched her spiked mace, which was planted  _ firmly _ , into the snow-covered earth. As did Four of the Mormont men that must have been selected by Maggy herself. 

“ ‘ _ My Quee’  _ \- Dacey, get up! . . .  _ Maggy you ninny _ .” Mumbling the last three words, as I watched her ascend. Standing now in front of her, her tall and lanky stature towering over even me. 

_ She’s nearly as tall as Father.  _

Walking up to her, I signal the soldiers in green and black to rise, as I embrace their Lady. “This will be the first and last time you call me that and bow to me, Dacey.”

“Nay. I will have to bend once more to swear my Houses allegiance next to Mother once we sit you upon the Iron Throne,” she smugly quips back. “But do me a favour, ‘Larra. Though I always knew there was something special about you just from your eyes.”

“There is naught special about me, Dace’.” Momentarily interrupting her, though she gives me a look

“-Do not forget you are one with the North. You’re as much Northern as I, no matter what your true hair colouring is-”

“Maggy, you blabber mouth you!” Looking to the skies, I speak aloud into the cold air. Still embracing Dacey who in turn laughed, I pulled away and re-introduced her to Arthur, Oswell and Wylla. 

“Your Grace,” one of the Mormont soldiers spoke. 

“Oh what - Old Gods, please. But please refrain from ‘Queen’ or ‘Grace.” Sighing audibly. 

“You  _ will _ have get used to it in time, Princess. It is your true title and destiny,” Arthur speaks clearly and pointedly at me. “Aye, I know Arthur. Tis’ still not something I am used to,” I said bashfully. I turned to the Mormont men and ask for their names.

“Then what would you command us to call you, your Grace,” Barth asked in his gruff voice.

“Please call me Alarra. Mayhap’s Visenya, if we are surrounded by trusted folk. Just not ‘Grace’ or ‘my Queen’ . . .  _ yet _ ,” adding and emphasising the last word as I received a pointed look from Arthur while Oswell rolled his eyes at my statement, and Rhoynar-ma smacked behind both of their heads. “Leave my sweet alone, you two,” she sternly speaks, before she sends me a proud look.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” I mouth to Rhoynar-ma. 

Dacey and the four Mormont men had arrived this morn and had made a camp whilst waiting for my arrival. We all replenished and let the horses rest for some time whilst me, Dacey, Arthur and Oswell, as well as her good friend Cayn, the head of the Stark retinue, worked out the safest and quickest route to White Harbor and then to our final destination. “We should not stick too close to White Knife. We are just asking for trouble if we do, especially with the number of our party. Any bandits would see us as reason for extortion of coin. And I would rather not spill any blood if necessary,” I spoke. “Ghost is out sweeping in front of us as we speak,” feeling the rumble of warmth through mine and connection. Arms crossed upon my chest, the sound of my black, boiled leather jerkin stretching and the winds howling. Ghost had been very,  _ very _ upset about leaving the Pack, but understood it was needed. He and his siblings had spent the last few days before our departure, running through the Wolfswood. 

_ All is clear, m’leth anam. _

_ Thank you, my other half. _

_ You can return or stay put, Ghost.  _

_ I shall stay to ward off unwanted foe, M’leth anam. _

_ Of course.  _

As her friend, two Knights and head Soldier finalised their journey, I made my way towards the still guarded chests. 

Three  _ very _ large chests.

Chests that held the very reason why I had to leave Winterfell and now the North. Nodding in respect to the guards, they move further away from the wagon to give me privacy. Not all Soldiers had been told the truth of who I am besides Cayn, but I had politely emphasised the need to care for the chests, as all shall be revealed upon our set destination. Running my hands on the edge of all three chests, I bowed my head, my forehead meeting the cold, stained wood whilst still having my hands on the outer two. I felt the spreading of comfort and longing to be released. The longing to fly and soar. 

To ascend to the skies and beyond.

To howl as loud as possible. 

_ To be free. _

_ Tis’ seems Sonax is the only one to have awoken. _

I had given them milk of the poppy within their goat’s milk. They had fallen asleep quite quickly and were then safely placed within the chests as delicately as humanly possible by me. It was Sonax that had taken the longest and Vezox the quickest. Perzyx, her fiery one, had been the most annoyed of the three when I had told all three  _ why _ I needed to give them ‘sleeping medicine’. His huffing and puffing so adorably and flapping of wings the cuter. Her blood red dragon had fallen asleep with his head across my lap. Her grey sun Vezox had laid her head against my stomach when she met her sleeping bliss, and finally, the very mirror of Ghost, Sonax met her slumber nestled under my chin and across my breast. 

_ Atop of my beating heart. _

“Forgive me,  byka mēre.” 

_ You will be free once more, just please be patient.  _

_ I know you have awoken jorrāelagon; are you hungry? Thirst? _

_No hunger,_ _Kipagīros. Only thirst._

Turning so fast in haste, I asked for two water skins from the closest guards and to hurry if possible. I continued to converse with them, thanking the Old Gods and the Children for cutting as many holes underneath the chests for them to breathe steadily at the very least. Once the Soldiers returned with two waterskins, I asked them they could rest for a moment or two whilst I stayed and looked after the chests. Once they had left, I unlocked the latch with the key I wore around my neck, climbing and sitting upon the small gap of space on the side of the wagon. I pulled open the chests door slowly as to not shock Sonax with too much brightness all at once. 

Once the chests door is opened halfway, I see the bloodshot red eyes peering towards me in love, for there was no other name for said expression. Her eyes wide open and the low whimpering. 

_ There, there ñuha tīkuni. _

_ Do not be upset, for I am here for you, jorrāelagon. _

_ When shall you hold us? _

_ I promise you, by nightfall, Sonax.  _

_ Here, drink. _

Her white-winged Dragon began to purr as I ran one hand under her horned chin, whilst the other held the waterskin up. Watching a steady amount of water trickle from the waterskin, Sonax tilted her head back and drank the water stream of water happily. Sonax was gulping the water down with every trickle, so I brought down the skin’s nub to Sonax’s mouth and she drank it by the mouthful, as some water escaped the sides of her growing, narrow snout. 

_ Steady there, Sonax.  _

_ Do not upset your stomach.  _

_ My iemny se irosh were in need. _

Guilt. I felt so much guilt, my eyes began to moisten at the thought of me neglecting the very three beings that depended upon me the most, in this world. I looked over my left shoulder sniffled away my tears, still holding Sonax’s head and feeding her the waterskin, yet I felt her shift within my hand, and I heard whines of sombre. I looked down upon my future Mount and feel the misconduct of not checking upon her sooner. Not seeing that one of her own beloved soul holders was in dire need of thirst. 

_ Kipagīros . . . _

_ I should have come to you sooner. I should have known. _

_ Forgive me. _

Sonax moved away from the nub and in haste crawled into my hold. I held my dear pale Dragon in my arms, not caring if all saw. All I ever wanted to do in their life and my own was to protect these Dragons, for I was their bonded. I was their trusted and if I could not remember to quench their thirst, what sort of - of - of . . . _Mother_ _was I?_

_ Iksā iā muña bona jorrāelagon se mīsagon. _

Sonax snuggles closer into my hold. Her long, scaled and ridged neck bent with her head pressed under my chin, breathing in time with my own, listening to the sound of heart. Once I and my future Mount had calmed, I checked in on Perzyx and Vezox still in their slumber. However, knowing her two other Dragons shall be extremely thirsty once they awaken, I in haste go off in search for two supping bowls, filled them to the brim and left them within the chests. Once our party has readied themselves once more, I jump back on to my steed and we journey once more. 

Tis’ still the same day of our leaving Winterfell and just the thought of me journeying away from the only home I have ever known, pains me, yet here I am, in the vast lands of the North journeying to White Harbor. I still naught know if my idea and planning were safe and sound, yet tis’ the only risk I was willing to take. 

_ Well, tis’ was either this or journeying beyond the wall until the Dragons were big and intimidating enough to be able to defend themselves. _

“Princess, are you alright?” Arthur moves in closer next to me, upon my right. “Your thoughts seem far too loud for being on horseback. You would usually be racing by now,” He muses lightly, though his voice his usual deepness. Of course, Arthur knew the reason  _ why _ I was in such a sombre and quiet mood, he just wanted me to express it, so I did not bottle it all in. Tis’ something he had always made me do since I could remember. 

_ “Never bottle in all your emotions. They need to escape now and then, and if you do so healthily and accordingly, you and others shall be swell.” _

“I am sad, Arthur . . . I am leaving the safety of the only home and family I have ever known. Not that you, Oswell and Rhoynar-ma are not,” speaking the last sentence in haste. I did not want Arthur to believe I did not see them as family. 

“Steady your thoughts, Princess. I know you see me, my Brother and Wylla as family, also. Tis’ the  _ blood family _ you are upset, no? That is why there is difference between a family and friends; blood shall always be thicker than mere years being spent with another. Ned knows that more than anyone; tis’ the reason why he turned his back to the Usurper all those years ago.  _ You  _ were the reason. Yet even before that, when Ned and his party all travelled to the Red Mountains in order to ‘rescue’ your Mother. Ned had turned his back upon that . . .  _ fat sack of shit _ because of what he allowed the Lannister’s to get away with. The Sacking: the murder of King - even if he was a Mad one, what Jaime did should have been met with Death or sentenced to the Wall, not rewarded with being kept on as a Kingsguard. And then the-”

“-Murders of a Sister, Brother and their Mother I shall never  _ ever _ get to meet.” Silence fell between us and my thoughts . . . turn dark. 

“Tywin Lannister deserves so much pain. Agony and torment for what he has done. For what he has been allowed to get away with; the  _ Mountain _ deserves to have his head on a  _ spike _ and the other, Armory  _ Loch _ . . . They have  _ so much _ coming for them, Arthur. They just do not realise they are dead men  _ walking _ ,” I hissed. Looking upon one of the men who raised me with his own hands, I turn my gaze to the skies and then to the over shoulder towards the wagon. “Yet time shall come. On my honour as a Daughter of House Stark. Their time, shall come.”

After a breath or two, I sigh away the burden of sorrow. 

“Better, Visenya?” 

Smiling lightly, incline my head. “Thank you, Arthur,” I breath in earnest. Blinking away whatever was left of my woes. Though not all my sorrow had been breathed away, I knew the journey I was beginning was for justice. 

_ Justice shall come.  _

_ I promise you Rhaenys. Aegon and Elia.  _

_ I promise.  _

**297 AC. | White Harbor | New Castle**

“Well met, Lord Manderly,” I say after I chewed and swallowed the salted bread under Guest Right. Though we would only be being staying here for some short moments, as Wylla and Arthur overlooked the boarding of the Dragons and the horses upon a black-sailed ship willing to take us to our needed destination. 

The sailor of the ship was one of Ser Davos Seaworth. 

_ Very _ loyal to one Stannis Baratheon; reigning  _ Lord _ of Dragonstone. 

Ser Davos had been Knighted by Stannis Baratheon and was even given lands to hold, as the Flee Bottom born man had nothing but his ship to his name. He had been missing the first two knuckles of his right hand because of his part in smuggling food to Storms End when it was being held unde r besieged by the Tyrells during the rebellion. Those fingers were worn around his neck inside a pouch for good luck if what the man said to be true. Tis’ an understandable punishment as most if not all thieves were met with the same fate, if not worse. Though, I would have taken the farthest two whole fingers upon his hand rather than what had been taken. One never knows when you were in need of a second hand. 

“Lady Alarra! Har! You have grown, my Lady,” Wyman Manderly spoke. The only way I knew he had been smiling was due to the movement of his of his beard. 

“Thank you, Lord Manderly,” I genuinely smiled. “And thank you for the salted bread and for receiving us, though it shall unfortunately be for a few short moments before we are needed to depart,” as I courtesy a curtsy. 

“Of course, Lady Alarra!” He roared as he stepped closer to my person, taken my hand and kissing the back of it. I tensed ever so slightly, though it was enough for Oswell to shuffle and clear his throat, taking the attention off of me. 

_ Well, it seems I was right; Lord Manderly really wanted a union between Houses Stark and Manderly, once more. Let us hope Wynafryd or Wylla (Manderly) hold the Old Gods rather than the Seven, otherwise her Brother might look at the Karstarks in favour of a bride.  _

I had met Lord Manderly and his heir Wylis on more than few occasions, whether it be within the walls of Winterfell or here in New Castle with Father as he attended to his duties. Though they held the Seven, Manderly’s were very respectful when it came to the North and were very loyal, if not extremely loyal, to House Stark even after all these years. Though they may be the richest House in the North, they were not the strongest when it came to manpower, no, that came down to House Stark and only House Stark. House Stark held the largest portion of the Norths army and that had been respected by the Manderly’s when they had been granted asylum by King Jon Stark.

Lord Manderly moved me, Oswell and the Six Stark soldiers into his solar, which had been met with a neutral look by myself, peculiar looks by the Stark guards and a stern look from Oswell. “Come-come, we are in need of a talk, my Lady,” Manderly speaks as he guides us. 

Once he had entered the solar, he takes his seat upon his special made seat which can hold his girth, and claps his hand, getting a raised eyebrow our of Oswell who stood some steps away from my person to my left, just enough for me to see him. He began to speak of my Father, Robb, how I fared, more of Robb and then surprisingly; why I was journeying out of the North?

“I only ask because your Lord Father, very famously, never let you out of his sights. Never! You had barely been let out of Winterfell, let alone this far South. I always knew he favoured you, but to see that you have now decided to journey away from the North is . . .  _ concerning _ . Is their trouble? Has Lady Catelyn been unforgiving again? Mayhap’s tis’ to do with your brother Robb? It is just not safe for a Daughter of your standing to be travelling alone.” Swinging his wined filled goblet, here and there.

_ The gall of this man. _

I truly wanted to roll my eyes to the clouds I will one day fly among, but I kept composed, lightly tapping my finger upon my crossed knee. 

Though I did see Oswell roll his. 

“You are close, Lord Wyman. I am journeying out of Winterfell for the first time on my own, though I am with Dacey Mormont, heir to Bear Island and Mormont Keep. I have with me Rh-Wylla Sand, who raised me by her hand herself, as well as my most trusted Ser’s who have been with me since I was brought North. Let us not forget the Stark men and men as well as the Mormont. That is Twenty trusted and hand-picked fighters.  _ I  _ have picked. I hope you do not believe my picking of these soldiers is ill, or even the decision Lord Stark has made in letting me journey? Being a Bastard Daughter, even if tis’ of a High House, one is never given the same privilege as True born children . . . Lord Stark gave me this last piece of freedom to me before it was time to find me suitors.” My voice was one I had practiced from watching Father hold court. 

‘Lords Voice’ me, Robb and Arya had called it. It held no true emotion but was evident my words were firm and clear. Authoritative I would call it, as it made one seem to listen more intently rather than pass over the words spoken, especially if you choose your words wisely; one could make a being feel guilty for something they had no need to be guilty for. 

_ Just like now.  _

I was thankful I made Ghost stay with the Dragons, otherwise her male Direwolf would be raising his hackles in my feeling exasperated. 

And it seemed the Manderly Lord understood this, also.

“I meant no ill intentions by my words, Lady Alarra. Forgive me, that was not what I intended. All I meant by the words is that . . . it could damage your clean image more than-”

“-than my already being a Bastard born? Aye. Tis’ true, but you forget, my Lord; I was never given a true chance of a _cleaner_ image _because_ of my birth. I shall be back North in time. You need nor _have_ _to_ care about my image. Tis’ will not help nor waver any future betrothals between House Stark and Manderly.”

“We-well that was not-”

“I am afraid that is all the time I can spare for now as we need to make good timing.” Speaking as I got up from my seat. I smiled politely and held my hand out. “There shall be no ill feelings from today, Lord Manderly. Do you know why?” I ask as he finally gets up off of his seat and places his goblet down.

“No, I unfortunately don’t,” as his sweaty paw clasps my clothed forearm, as my own hand clasps his.

“Tis’ coming, Lord Manderly. Prepare,” and after I had spoken the words, I slip out a sealed and rolled piece of parchment out from under my jerkin. I held the scroll Father had asked me to deliver to Wyman Manderly by hand as it was too important to be sent by raven. “This was written by Lord Stark and he had asked me to deliver this in haste. Heed the words and do so quietly. Remember; winter is coming, my Lord.” Leaning in closer, I whispered my final words and left with a nod and escorted me and my party out of New Castle and to the docks where Arthur and Wylla waited. 

“What did you whisper, Princess?” Oswell asked once we had sailed and were standing on the deck of the ship.

Looking towards Oswell, I smile softly and sigh, looking back out into the vast waters that was the sea.

_ Tis’ was my first time ever seeing it, let alone being upon it. _

“Fire and blood, Lewos.” Mindful of those on the ship.

**297 AC. | Ser Davos Ship | Under Deck**

_ “Wolves in the hills . . .” _

Just as I finished the song, Vezox, scuttles over  _ once more _ and whines for me to sing another. 

“By the Old Gods, Vezox, how many more songs,” I giggled. Yet, her only Sun eyed Dragon, huffed and bumped her head into chest as I sat upon the ships floor. I allowed the Dragons out of the chests in such haste once I had returned, as tis’ was safe for them within the depths of the ships where they held the possessions of whomever was on-board. I rolled onto my back and continued to giggle as Vezox would not give up on her whining and huffing and head-butting. 

“Your head-butting will get you nowhere fast, jorrāelagon.” Yet I continued to giggle harder when she jumped on top of my person and tried a new approach, sniffing my neck and face as Ghost does. It seemed this enticed her siblings as Perzyx and Sonax jumped into the huddle and followed their grey Sister antics and huffed and sniffled at my face and neck. 

“Ghost, save me!” I giggled in tears. Needing no further asking, Ghost jumped up from his shadowed spot and lolled on over with his tongue out and tail whipping. He jumped and playfully pushed at the Dragons to distract them off of me, nipping at their necks and wings. Sonax cackled loudly and flapped her wings, gaining enough flight to be properly face to face with Ghost, but her furry companion simply brought his paw up and patted Sonax’s head and then jumped upon Sonax. Both began to rough play and roll upon the wooden floor purring, huffing and panting. Perzyx and Vezox then quickly turned their attention to their siblings and jumped into the fray, and now all of them were rough playing. I saw my blood red Dragon beginning to upon his mouth to breathe the fire he had been practicing and then suddenly saw the reddish-orange hue of lights coming from the depths of his throat. Without thinking, I jump in front and bring my hands in front of Perzyx’s mouth and tried closing his snout. 

. . . not before red hued fire escaped and caught alight to my tunics sleeve. 

“Oh!” I say in panic, still within the mind frame of believing I could burn. Of course, once I patted out the flames, I huffed and blew at the hair that had come undone from place and had fallen in front of my face. I curled it behind my ear and looked up at the silence surrounding me and realised the Dragons looked towards me the way Ghost does; head tilted but with the added eye roll.

_ Eye roll? _

“Wha - did you just - just all roll your eyes? At me?” I say in perplexity and bewilderment. They all huffed (including Ghost) at my words, as if  _ I _ should be used to not burning by now.

“Look here, dear ones, I maybe resilient to it, that doesn’t mean I am used to it, I shall have you know,” animatedly sticking my nose into the air and watching them from the corner of my eyes. “Imagine if I dropped you into the water? How would you feel then, huh-?”

_ We can hold breath under water, kipagīros . . . _

_. . . what?  _

Dumbfounded, all I do is stare back at Sonax with a cocked brow.

_ We can glide in water. _

“Wait what!?” I pitched aloud, now upon my knees and watching Sonax intently, mindless bringing all four of them into my arms. “How can you know that Sonax, you have never swum in your lives.”

_ You forget when you would bathe us with the metal bed, kipagīros. _

_ And we would go hunting with our jaos lentor within the streams for prey. _

Shocked, I looked to Ghost who slowly slides onto his belly, hiding behind his scaled siblings, ears down and eyes looking every but me.

“Why you bunch of little-,” I grumbled before grabbing the Dragons and with all the strength I could muster, pick them and throw them (lightly) upon the stack of hay which lay clumped in a pile. I turn my sights to my Six feet tall Direwolf, who expertly doges my hands until I finally caught him. Tickling and rubbing his belly until he patted my head to stop. I heard the clawed hands of the Dragons making their way in haste to where me and Ghost lay, and we all laid upon the floor in tiredness and happiness. 

_ Tis’ was not so bad . . . _

Those words were my last thoughts as I welcomed the sleeping abyss once more.

**// END OF PART 8 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR FINISHING AND READING PART 8! 
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed Part, though mind you it was not one full of action, but more a filler chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much for those you have liked my work!! I am nearly on 200 Kudos's and for all those who have read it. 
> 
> THANK YOU ONCE MORE!
> 
> Jorrāelagon | Dear  
> Iksā iā muña bona jorrāelagon se mīsagon | You are a mother that dear and defend  
> Iemny se irosh | Stomach and throat  
> Ñuha tīkuni | My wings  
> Byka mēre | Little one
> 
> | P.S. |  
> I am sorry it took longer today to update, but it was Holy occasion today (Guru's bday) so I had to pop out to the Gurdwara for a jiffy. X


	9. Chapter 1 : Part 9   “Kings of Old, What Have I Done?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SORRY IT IT TECHNICALLY SUNDAY WHEN I SAID SATURDAY!
> 
> I know and I am sorry. 
> 
> McDon has me working Saturday's now so I shall change my upload days to every week Sunday. 
> 
> No, I am not leaving this story unfinished, as I have said to Beegregs91!
> 
> I love this story so far, and I am hoping you, my fellow read, are loving it too. 
> 
> BUT! Y'day when I had finished the chapter, it just didn't sit well with me and so I added more and more into until finally, 4,000 words became 8,000.
> 
> So without further a do!
> 
> ENJOY, COMMENT BUT FIRSTLY READ PART 9!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story of mine was influenced by A Dragon’s Flight by Madrigal_in_training and that is how I, Kishie8, came up with my story’s concept. A Dragon’s Flight, though unfinished, was so damn original! I have been reading those 9 chapters on and off for about 2 years now, and finally the creative knot in my brain had . . . combust?
> 
> But here is my, Kishie8’s, original fanfiction story based upon the words and works of G.R.R.M Book Series and T.V. Show; Game of Thrones. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I, Kishie8, do not own anything (characters, locations, names, Direwolves, Dragons - you get it) except for my own OFC (Original Female Character) and the Dragon(s) personality (if that is a thing?).
> 
> !eNjOy! !eNjOy!

**297 AC. | Black-Sailed Ship | Visenya**

**L** ooking at the four sleeping souls upon the heap of straw one last time, I make my way out of the door and close it behind me. Though there was no key or fastener to lock the door, Arthur had been guarding it the eve prior and now it seems he had swapped with Oswell during the early hours of daybreak, as Oswell now stood in his stead. 

“Good morn, Princess,” Oswell greeted me with a bow.

_I for true, must get used to the bows._

“Good morn, Oswell,” I greeted back with a hug as per usual and was returned with a kiss my crown. “Did you swap during the early hours?”

“Yes, we did. Though Arthur had informed me you had quite the restful night, however,” the Whent Bat said with a hearty chuckle. He watched as I rolled my eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, for both Knights were not wrong. Her Dragons did not seem to want to settle during her own sleep. Every few hours they would awaken and demand my attention or to quench their thirst, whilst her blessed Ghost would silently try to aid in any way possible; bringing the waterskins or bowls in order to make my work less bothersome. Though, it never was when it came to these four beings. They emitted her joy and happiness, her sorrow and grief, her wisdom and intellect. They were her as she was them. 

_But they could at least sleep through one whole night._

Yet, the other part of me, the more predominant side of my thoughts understood their reason for demanding my attention. They had not slept or rested with me for nearly Three moons, when before that, they would fall asleep either with me upon my small bed or in front of the hearth with Ghost. I feel now that they have both options, they fear falling asleep and awakening with me nor Ghost to be near them, however, Ghost had been sleeping with them the majority of the time I had been forced to rehome them within the abandoned cave of the Godswood. 

“Aye, tis’ as though they feared my not being there when they awoke. They have a natural fear of me abandoning them to a cold cave in the middle of the woods somewhere. I have just put them back to sleep, after having explained to them I needed to at least show my face or else those who care for me will grow suspicious. They settled after I promised them food and _another_ song,” my last sentence said as a thinly veiled whine. Oswell, of course the more humorous of the two Knights, just grinned cat-like and attempted to cover with chuckles with coughs.

“Of course, Princess. You did seem to be singing most of the night, as I recall. Arthur did admit to nearly falling prey to sleep when you sang ‘Daughter of the Moon’ . . . He always did-”

“-aye he did.” Both agreeing that Arthur _always_ felt most tired when I sang the words of that song. 

“How is Rhoynar-ma? Dacey? Did they sleep better than I?” Knowing fully well her surrogate Mother did not, and Dacey was far too skilled with her spiked mace to worry about worrying. 

“If you believe Wylla caught a proper wink of sleep, then you must not have slept well enough to know her better,” Oswell teases. I pushed him japingly and stared at him with a practiced frown as I began to unwind my swords belt, which had been held in my hand. Buckling the boiled leather, I fixed it reminiscently around my waist feeling the familiar weight of Northern steel against my left hip. 

“I thought so, but one could hope.” I innocently shrug. “Shall I bring you food or drink?” 

“Please. Send one of the Stark Greys down with it. Wylla and Lady Mormont are in need of your company - oh and Arthur wants to go over everything before we arrive,” Oswell speaks. Nodding, I pat his shoulder and walk away, all the while I journey through the ship's stairwells with my hand resting against the Valyrian dagger, the same exact one I had used and won against its previous owner, when I was only Ten and Three years. After walking back up to the higher floor, I moved through the dark, narrow halls, finally making it to the assigned rooms I had been given by Ser Davos for the journey. Seeing Stark Greys, as Oswell now likes to call them, lining the walls, I nod at them as they bowed deeply as I passed them. Words of ‘highness’ and ‘grace’ left their lips, and I did not have in me to remind them they need not call thusly. My footfalls of strapped, black leather boots came to a stop outside the wooden door, yet I turned to Meryl, a sturdy yet butch man who wielded a double-bladed axe. He was of age as Father however he looked at face value, older. Me and him built a friendship of trust after the Theon incident and I earned his respect in his eyes. 

He was one of the first men to voice their agreement in my lessons of sword wielding. 

“Well met this morn, Meryl,” I smiled. 

“Aye, well met this morn, Snow,” the man replied. The gruff and deep voice of his held only respect to my ears, yet to those outside of the Stark Greys, it sounded as though he were being standoffish and insulting, especially when he refused to call me by my correct titles as others who know of my true identity. He preferred calling me Snow for to him, I will always be the Bastard Daughter of Eddard Stark; quiet and fierce. I knew he meant no insult, so I did not take insult. 

“I have a favour to ask, if that is acceptable?”

“Ask away, Snow,” the gruff man inclined his helmed head, shifting his stance to one of lax, though never once moving his hand off the axe head strapped to his waist. 

“I need you to deliver a waterskin and some food to Oswell, then for you to stand guard at the door with him. You may take drink and food for yourself also, if that were in agreement with yourselves?” looking slightly down at his eyes. His bearded face and bushy eyebrows covered most of the skin upon his face, as well as his longer, plaited hair, but I saw the twinkle within his eyes when I spoke. Him and Oswell liked each other enough for it to be pleasant, always regaling fights and wars of their pasts, seeing who the better man was to come out on top. Even when Arthur proposed they actually fight it out, both disagreed.

_But the burly man truly loved his ale._

“Aye, we are in agreement,” he throttled. Trying to stifle down the excitement of getting his hands on some ale. Meryl moved away at once to wherever the kitchens were kept. Turning to another Stark Grey, I asked if Wylla or Dacey had broken their fasts, and when he replied no, I asked if he could ask the kitchens to send food down here at once, but to watch them carefully. 

_No good will happen if I or anyone I knew were poisoned._

Finally, I turn back to the door and knock thrice. I hear the soft falls of what could only belong to Rhoynar-ma and her soft footfalls of her pumps as she makes her way to the door and unlatches the lock. 

_Smart._

The door opened and I was greeted with a ‘in-the-midst-of-getting-ready’ Rhoynar-ma. Her hands were working upon unwinding her hair which had always been plaited at night.

“Alarra,” Rhoynar-ma gushed, though it had only been since last noon she had last seen me. She reached for me and brought me within her ever-warm embrace, her head coming to rest just underneath my chin, as I in turn rested my head upon hers.

“I thought it a pleasant morn to break fast with you today, as I never got the chance back home.” I would always break fast with my siblings and Father; only rarely would I break fast with Rhoynar-ma and more the rarer would I get the chance to be with Arthur or Oswell for fast. 

“Oh, my sweet girl, of course. Come in,” she was already pulling me into her (my) chambers and shutting the door behind me. The room was quiet, nearly as big as my own back home, but it lacked warmth and personal touch. My one personal chest with my clothing and the original documents and letters of my parents and so forth. I had packed what I needed, not what I owned. Most of my clothing consisted of tunics and breeches. I had brought only three dresses: one of light grey, another of dark and one of light blue. All had the woven decor of running Direwolves, stretched branches of the Weirwood and the blood red leaves of the same tree. 

After I am bashfully guided to a small table that I presumed was used to eat upon, Rhoynar-ma begins speaking as she readies herself as she always has done for the morn. 

“How are you, my sweet? How are they?” Rhoynar-ma talks as she changes behind a screen of privacy. 

“I am in an acceptable mood as always, though I did not sleep much for _they_ did not seem to want to settle for long. I felt their fear of me not being next to them once they awoke. I think they were afraid I would leave like I had when they were staying within the cave.” My words were honest and open for I knew Rhoynar-ma was one the few people I could open up to. I watched outside the small, circular glass window of the ship, watching as the waves swished and moved. Hearing the water as well as the creaking of the ship's wood. 

“Oh, Alarra. Do not feel that tis’ your fault, for it has naught to do with you. It has to do with circumstances and those around us. The instinctual fear of one's children being exposed to harm,” Rhoynar-ma softly spoke with experience as she swept back to the table, sitting to my right and the closest to the window. She takes my hand within hers-

“Children? Ma - children? Did you just say-?” My dumbfounded questioning interrupted by a very convenient knock on the door, followed by the muffled words of food. 

Getting up in a hasten daze, I made my way to the door so fast and opened it. I received the platter of food and apologised as I kicked the door shut behind me to the young boy who had delivered the food. I made my way back to the table and leaned upon it after I placed the platter down. I was so caught off by the assumption; I had no sense of what to think nor say. 

Her Rhoynar-ma of course just smiled mischievously and went about plating the foods I liked eating; a slice of toast, eggs and half a smoked sausage with an apple. Whilst the Dornish lady ate the other half of the sausage, and two eggs with her own added spices and salts and as much fruit she could get her hands on. I go about pouring Rhoynar-ma watered down wine and myself water, but I do so by wearing an expression which sets Rhoynar-ma roaring with laughter through the entire morn. 

“Oh, stop it, Alarra! You should have drawn the comparison by now,” Rhoynar-ma amusingly chides behind her hand. “You birthed them, keep their bellies full and their thirst quenched. Just like a mother to her new-born babes,” cocking her brow, before closing her mouth over the eggs and sausage bite size cuttings on her fork. 

_Wait - wait, tis’ not as it seemed . . . no?_

“But I never really - really - really, birthed them!” 

“They may not have been pushed out of you, my Sweet, but they did have your blood on them when they hatched,” knowingly watching me as she chewed her next bite. 

_Rhoynar-ma had a good point; the eggs did have my blood upon their eggshells, but then . . ._

“Well then, what of Ghost?” making work of piling my eggs upon my toast. “I have been caring for him since he had been birthed, yet he speaks to me of a soul sharer. Not Mother,” then taking a bit of my food. 

“What is a child if not a piece of your very soul, placed into another being for you to love and protect . . .?”

_By the Gods . . ._

The rest of fast and the day was spent with me shooting Rhoynar-ma brooding looks whilst she returned them with exasperating knowing looks. Arthur of course having had enough of watching me think, asked what was wrong and I ended up blurting if I were a good Mother and would I be a good one to future children? Arthur’s face looked angry the first moment, confused the next, then annoyed, to finally settle upon comfortingly before he answered me. He leaned down close enough for just the two of us to hear.

“You are an exceptional Mother, Alarra. Whether or not they are human, you love and bathe them in trust and happiness. Future ones would be even luckier.” Before he leaned back against the ships rail and looked across the sea. 

_Mayhap’s me being a Mother would not be so bad._

“But, for a moment there, I thought this was your way of telling me you’re with child,” Arthur said simply. Though his face wore an expression I could not make, but lips thinned. 

_Huh . . ._

“I do not know if you are angry about that or happy?” Folding my arms, both now watching the sailors do what they do best; sail a ship.

“Just get married before you think of having more children, Alarra. It would not do to give your Father an attack of the heart,” he mused with a smirk, though it did not meet his eyes as much. He bumped into my shoulder lightly and continued to watch the men at work.

_Oh, my fierce protector._

_I know you mean yourself._

_I promise to try and not to grow so soon in spite of_ everything.

I hold onto his armoured arm and rest my head upon his broaden shoulder. Closing my eyes to the world listening to the sounds of waves, creaking of wood and the voices of men around us.

_Familiar warmth filling my heart and mind . . ._

**297 AC. | Black-Sailed Ship | Day Before Arrival.**

Hours turned into days, and it came to the point we had been at sea for near a fortnight. The Dragons had calmed during this duration, yet not enough to let me sleep in an actual bed, just a bed of straw. They had, however, continued to grow at an alarming rate; Sonax was now Three complete feet in length with a wingspan of Five, and Perzyx and Vezox at Two feet and Five inches with wingspans mere inches away from their fair sister's. I was beginning to think that if we did not make land tomorrow as I had been informed by Ser Davos, I would be needing larger chests for the Dragons.

_Or worse; expose them._

I had scarily noticed Ghost growing an inch or so taller also, as he too now stood an inch taller than Arthur, who stood at Six foot Four inches.

_Though I prayed to the Old Gods and Children that was all from Ghost._

The ever-growing creatures were so at ease with one another and her, it was harmonious. If one felt sad, we would comfort them. If one felt excited, we would play, mostly rough play. If they were in the mood of ease and languid, I would sing to my heart’s content and run my finger over their scales or fur. The Dragons over the fortnight had learnt one of two key elements that _made_ them Dragons: fire. Sonax of course having learnt to puff spurts of it when in Winterfell. I recognised within those early instances, those spurts were not completely orange and red as one would think of fire. Sonax’s breath of fire was laced and ingrained with a plane fire. Whiteness. And the more her Mount breathed and breathed her fire, the paler her fire coloured. Then came Vezox, her orange eyed girl. She and Perzyx both began to puff hot air whilst they were still in Winterfell, but now they were beginning to breathe actual fire.

With Vezox, I had noticed her fire was darker; _greyer_ , with a more vibrant orange hue to it. After seeing her second girl breathe fire consecutively, I began to ponder if what I thought was true. Surely enough when Perzyx, the day eve prior to be exact, breathed his first fully fledged breath of fire, his was coloured predominantly red rather than the usual orange. There was no white like Sonax nor grey like Vezox. 

_Were their fires pigmented to their skin? Dyed?_

Whether or not that was the truth I documented nevertheless. After I had written their measurements, my thought sand findings, I wrote more letters back to Winterfell. I had kept with my promise of writing my siblings. Within the first week at sea, I made sure I dipped my hands into some ink and printed them onto a parchment long enough to fit both hands, writing on the back of it that I missed my littlest Shadow dearly and counted down the days until I could once again see my little Ricky. I made sure to send Rickon Ghosts paw prints for Shaggydog and the rest of Dire's to sniff and see, too. 

To Sansa, I wrote of mayhap’s building friendship switch others who were not just Jeyne Poole; the Manderly girls perhaps. I had heard they were fair, and kind and that Sansa needed more Winter friends for Summer ones melted away or froze in the cold as Old Nan reminded us. I had bid her the happiest of name days for she had turned two and ten during my first week upon the sea but reminded her to see the inner value of a being, rather than their prettiness. I promised once I had settled, I would be sending her a gift.

Of course, none of her siblings, besides Arya and Robb, knew she was not actually journeying to Bear Island. Writing half-truths or half lies was painful as it was, but it was for the best for the time being. 

To Bran, oh her sweet Bran, I spoke of how the journey of horseback was both the most freeing experience one could experience. I spoke of how at night the stars shone s bright, and oft time you could make out the aligned ones. I also spoke of who sore one’s bloody legs become after riding a horse for hours on end, and how it felt as though you had to relearn how to walk. It was embarrassing, but fruitful when you finally arrived at your destination. Though of course at this point in time, I still had to pretend I had not arrived at _Bear Island_. I asked how his lessons were with Maester Luwin. I asked after the Maester also. I asked how his sparring and archery were holding; did he finally manage to get a hit on Robb? Did Arya hold her promise to look over you and Rickon whilst I was not there? Did he need help?

With Robb I spoke of how Manderly may visiting Winterfell soon with his Granddaughters. I told him of my words to Sansa. Though I had not met Wynafryd or Wylla, I heard the youngest was brave and had a heart of steel when it came to those she thought of family. Oh, and she dyes her hair green. Wynafryd was much like his Mother in the sense she was more to Lady Starks standards. I had heard she was lady-like and held to the Seven. Yet the younger, Wylla, was three and ten, very vocal in her love for the North and held to the Old Gods compared to her entire family. She and Arya would make good friends where Sansa would make good friends with Wynafryd. I spoke of Lord Wyman and that he and his party, if not already, should have arrived in Winterfell, delivered the parchment Father had asked of me and parted on good terms, making sure Manderly understood the truth, though I did not spell it out for the seaman. I spoke that he should give either of the Manderly daughters a chance and that if not, to not fret over a betrothal so soon, though to keep an open mind to possibilities. 

I asked how the Baratheon King was. What was his personality, kind, brutish or evil? Was the Stag actually as fat as the people of Winter Town spoke of? Were the royal family kind? Was the Lannister _Queen_ kind? Whose soldiers were the best?

Of course, I could not write my true questions of how the Royal soldiers fared in sparring. Were they fast thinkers or standard when they were pitted against our men and women? Questions that would actually help our cause and so forth, but hopefully Robb will look between my lines and see the truth.

And then Arya. 

_Oh, little sister._

I write to her of _everything_. I spoke of the white stones of White Harbor. I spoke of the bustling people of the docks, merchants and all sorts coming to barter, sell or buy this and that. I spoke of how hard it was for me the first night I had spent on the ship, for I realised the true reason the Dragons were restless that night. It was not only because they feared me not being there for them once they awoke, but because they fed off my sadness and longing for home.

_For Winterfell was where her family were and where she felt the safest._

I spoke how Ghost would run to the highest point and look back North howling, as though he could see or sense his siblings. I asked after her lessons; was she still being picked on? Did she learn anything new with Maester Luwin? Did she remember to recite the Northern houses whilst she practiced with Big Sister for, I reminded her that was how Arden and Lewos taught me? If she was, then she should move on to the one of the Southern Kingdoms and learn their vassal. Mayhap’s Dorne? I spoke of Dacey and how her youngest sister Jorelle and Arya had a lot in common and that mayhap’s Arya should write to her and ask her to visit. Also, when they arrive to be friendly with Wylla Manderly: _I heard she as brave as you little sister. Mayhap’s teach her some of your sword wielding?_

I finished my letter to Arya by saying that Arden had been very adamant about my learning to wield a sword with both hands, whether at the same time or in case you lose one. 

_One never knows, Princess. Tis’ a skill that could help you in the future and can save you and other's._

To Father I wrote about my health, the journey and the momentary sighting of a handful of seaman on the way. I spoke that once my wings were large enough, the time will be then. I had asked and helped Sonax dip her clawed hand into some ink on a complete and separate parchment. It was now larger than my own hand and covered more than half of the parchment. 

That had been during the first week, and I knew their replies to my letter would be sent to Driftmark, as it would be both impossible and dangerous if they ever fell into the wrong hands. 

_Old Gods I hope my plan works._

The weather began to warm. The breeze upon the water held the brush of warmth and heat; no longer were the skies grey and cloudy. Clouds began to disperse, and the sky coloured into blue, the sun was for once visible and shone daily. I could understand that just by leaving the North, the initial beauty within it all, yet I knew that beauty was only skin deep to many South. Deeper the South the more acidic and viler it was, and that was after I had begun to bridge conversation with some of the sailors, asking questions of no true relevance at first before asking about Kings Landing. Innocent enough that it was not suspicious for a girl who has spent her entire life in the North. I had found few, barely three key pieces of information that I could try to use for my gain, but I shall have to wait and see. 

So, after I had sent my fourth set of letters within the fortnight just as I had promised, this morning, I had had a rested night before and was feeling energised. The Dragons were being entertained by Ghost for the morning so I deemed it would be fitting to catch up on some sparring. Me and Dacey were standing next to one another, panting desperately over a wooden barrel of water and our tunics drenched in sweat. I felt a bead of it roll down the side of my forehead and make its way down my cheek before I swiped off with my thumb. We both had been sparring with blunted swords upon the top deck of the ship, garnering viewers and admirers. Dacey had one the first round. 

I had won the rest of the four. 

“Now I know where all your energy goes to, ‘Larra,” Dacey breathlessly uttered. “I’m _shockingly_ surprised you have not started to endeavour in _other_ activities with that stamina of yours, my friend. The Old Gods have blessed you with many a thing, but I bet men weep when you deem to even look upon them,” before turning her gaze directly to the crowd of shipmen who had now completely stopped working and were very abundantly watching the two of them. 

_Oh, for the love of the Children._

_Does Dacey not know they are watching_ her _and not_ me _._

Her friend was just being absurd now, mayhap’s tis’ due to the lack of water. 

“Here, take this,” shoving the tin cup for the water into her friend's sweaty palm. “You look and sound as though you need it more than I; thinking they are watching me. The blood has most definitely left that mind of yours if you think that. Dacey, they are _clearly_ watching you. Why would they be watching me?” Before I made my way towards Arthur, who overlooked our sparring from the railing of the ships, as I saw Dacey shake her head but sipped from the cup. 

Arthur looks me over for any injuries, and when he cannot see any he nods and smiles. “Though she was slightly pulling her strikes in the second round, you did best her in the final three. Are you not pleased that I urged you to practice with both hands? Lady Mormont did not get the chance to see you swap hands and were already holding your dagger and sword tip to her unprotected flank and inner leg; both painful and bloody deaths and one faster than the other, by the time she span back to face you. You have become faster as you continue to practice but remember to protect your left flank; learn from your first round. You will never get a second chance at fighting if you have fallen victim to the first round in life; learn,” he urges. I nod and absently rub the left side of my stomach just thinking over how to better my defence. 

I look back to Dacey, who is already sweet talking a fellow shipman. Rolling my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose when both her and this man leave in haste below the deck, just as Rhoynar-ma was making her way up. The Dornish woman clearly knew what was happening and just mischievously smiled towards Dacey. She caught sight of me and Arthur and began to make her way over. 

“Old Gods . . .” I sighed.

Arthur chuckles deeply and places his hand upon my shoulder and squeezes. “You should have seen Oberyn when we were growing up,” he speaks quietly. “Though he was only a year older than I, he had begun to ‘venture’ in such activities by the age of ten and two.”

“. . . Ten. And. Two?” The unexpected of thought of Sansa being-

“Yes. By the age of ten and three he had fathered his first Bastard daughter; Obara with a working lady,” smiling at the fond memory. “Oberyn would later go back to all the ladies he had slept with and funnily enough, he collected two more on the way. Last, I had heard from Wylla, he had eight daughters in total now, known as the Sand Snakes. He bedded women _and_ men alike.” Now watching me intently with his brown cocked and lips slightly pursed as I absently nodded.

_Why was he looking at me so? Was there something on my face? Was I cut?_

I continued to awkwardly rub my face, so it did not look like I was trying to rub my face. As I was in the midst of doing so, just as Rhoynar-ma was about to approach us I unconsciously look towards the shirtless, sweltering sailors and then back to Rhoynar-ma-

Oh! 

_Gods I am so naive when it comes to such things._

Looking back to Arthur who now where’s a _very_ large grin, I knew he was holding in his laughter because he too knew I was very slow when it came to such . . . matters. “Pleasure is pleasure, as long as tis’ consenting,” I shrug bashfully, feeling my cheeks heat. 

“Whose pleasure,” Rhoynar-ma asks right away. Placing her hand against my cheek and then forehead, as if to check if I was with fever. 

“Nothing, Wylla. Just informing Alarra about your whore cousin,” he smugly quips. 

_Now how was Rhoynar-ma supposed to know who Arthur was talking about-_

“Oh, Oberyn? Yes, I have eight nieces from him now. I remember Obara, Nymeria and Tyene when they used to be younger, toddlers at the most. Obara was her Father’s very image but with teats. Sarella was the child that had as much beauty as Obara lacked and Tyene was the exact opposite to her father and sisters; fair, blonde hair and blue eyes, though they were her father’s eyes. Her mother had been a Septa.”

_What . . ._

“. . . if my future children are ugly, would you speak of them as so also?” dumbly saying the first thing to come to mind, as I am still trying to wrap my head around a Prince and a _Septa!_

Just the thought of Septa Mundane Mordane in such a predicament . . .

Spinning around so swiftly, I hurl out all of this morning and noon’s food over the side of the ship and into the sea, as my own mind betrayed me with the thought of Septa Mundane . . . 

_Hurrr!_

_Here come the images._

_Hurrrrr!_

Arthur, the ever so perspective, put the two and two together and roared with laughter. Probably coming to the understanding of Septa Mordane, whilst Rhoynar-ma rubbed my back behind me and promised that none of my future children would ever be ugly, even if I laid with the ugliest man in all of Westeros. 

“Ahaha! Septa - ahah - Mordane!”

“Huh? What does that wretched woman have anything to do with-”?

“Oh, olv gos . . . _hurrr!”_

“I have to tell Lewos about this!”

_Oh no . . ._

**297 AC. | Driftmark | Alarra**

“Ahaha! Oh, Pri-Alarra! Mordane!!” Oswell smacking his leg and bending over to rest his hands upon his knees whilst he lets out the last bits of laughter. I just rolled my eyes and continued to pout as I stroked (held back) Perzyx, trying to place him back into the chest but my annoyance was making him annoyed at Oswell. 

“Oswell, by the Old Gods, if you do not want to get scratched, burnt or eaten, stop laughing,” I firmly say, or try to, but it sounded more like I was whining. 

Oswell, heading my words, sobers up as much as he could but I could see the tears and redness upon his cheeks, especially the never dying grin on his bloody face. He just nods and tries coming closer, but I stop him as Perzyx tries breathing over at him over my shoulder, quickly spinning towards Oswell so her Dragon breathes towards the lid of the chest. 

“Perzyx, no,” I reprimand after he stops breathing fire. I cocoon his face in both hands where I am kneeling in front of the chest and force him to look me in the eye, though he tries looking back towards a now silent Oswell. 

“Per -” struggling with his face. 

“Per - Perzyx - no,” continuing to struggle. 

“Look here, look at me - Egg!” Shouting at her red Dragon. Perzyx looks at her shockingly before quickly looking down into her lap, trying to climb on top of me into my lap. And I allow it. I had never had to shout at the Dragons or Direwolves before, mayhap’s speak loudly for them to listen to me but never, had I raised my voice in such a manner. Perzyx sat down within my lap as I let go of his head, but due to his every growing height and weight, I was forced into laying backwards upon the wood as Perzyx whined and purred. 

“Shhh . . . I am sorry my fiery soul. I am sorry,” kissing between his eyes and blunted horns on the side of his face. “Forgive me, I did not mean to shout. I shouldn’t have.” Cooing back at her Dragon who now had his face tucked into the hollow of her neck, softly whining. I felt the slight pang of sadness and the feeling of sorry.

“Tis’ alright my fiery one . . . you must learn to stay calm. Being calm and patient can and shall be your best friend if you let yourself to practice. Acting rashly may hurt you or other around you and I do not want that for you or other’s - well those I care for or are innocent.” Calmly running my hands over his neck and spikey spine, feeling him calm under my touch and beginning to purr louder and louder, snuggling closer. I wait to carry on speaking until I feel his approval. “Please listen to me, Perzyx. I do not want you to get hurt or in turn hurt others because I could not teach your patience. I love you, too much that it shall hurt me beyond . . . beyond everything if you are caught in danger.” Kissing his snout before hugging him closer.

The purring of his continued until I felt him accept my words, sending me a feeling of love as he calmly and silently fell into slumber. Slowly and difficulty I manoeuvre his large body into the chest, making sure to double check his neck is not bent awkwardly and was able to breathe for some short hours . . . unless things do not go to plan. I close the lid after planting one more kiss upon Perzyx’s spine and shut the lid, locking the latch in place and standing up.

“Oswell, sorry about that. He is still young, but I have been teaching him and his sister during our days at sea. The girls picked up most of my teachings but Perzyx is the one that lacks patience the most of the three . . . Never mind that, send in the six Stark Grey’s in-”

“Egg . . .” Oswell utters, watching me carefully with an expression between seeing a ghost and curiosity. 

_Egg?_

“I’m sorry, eggs, Oswell? I . . . yes the eggs, the Dragons you mean?”

“No, Visenya, you called him Egg.”

“Who?”

Oswell moves to me confused, as I return his look of bewilderment. “You called Perzyx, Egg, Visenya. Do you not remember what you just said?”

“I . . . I did?” Unsure if I did, and if I did, mayhap’s it was just a slip of the tongue for I used to call them eggs for the first three to four moons when they were still within their shells. I explained as such but Oswell shakes his head distracted, looking between me and the chest before shaking his head once more. 

Sighing, he straightens. “Never mind, Princess. We can talk about . . . this later. I shall go and get the Greys,” before he spun and left. 

I stood there in my black breeches, grey tunic and black jerkin. My black boots strapped tightly with leather string to my knees. Little Sister strapped to my back and my nameless Valyrian dagger at my waist. I began to think back on my words as I run a hand through my half-up and half-down tied roots. The colouring of my true hair beginning to grow through, as I had seen this morning my pale roots after having a wash down. 

_Egg?_

_Did I actually slip the word ‘egg’ when I shouted at Perzyx?_

Just thinking about raising my voice in such a way to Perzyx made me cringe, guilt thick upon my heart. I rubbed against it as if it would sooth away phantom pain when I heard and then saw Meryl, Cayn and four more Greys walk in through the door. 

“Princess?”

Snapping back into reality, I begin to give orders.

“Remember; these chests must be held firmly but carefully, for what they hold within them is of _very_ great importance to not me but to our cause . . . When you lift them above your heads as we leave the boats to make shore, please; do not panic . . . Cayn, you shall stay be carrying this chest,” pointing at Vezox’s chest, “with Roland. You shall both sit within the allocated boat that shall bring you to shore with Ser Arthur and Dacey. Is that understood?” My voice, though commanding, was said with humility. 

“Aye, your grace,” both men bowed their heads and went off carrying them with both men at both ends. Dacey and Arthur were, or should be, waiting for them at the top deck of the ship readying the men and boats.

Turning to Meryl and Polarc, I nod. “Meryl, you and Polarc will be taking this chest,” pointing to Perzyx’s chest next to me. “But again, please be careful. Ser Oswell and Wylla shall be escorting you also and shall be on the boat with you.” Running my hands over Perzyx’s chest as they lift his chest up. “Don’t worry your, Snow. We will be careful,” guff’s Meryl before he and Polarc moved off in the same fashion as Cayn and Roland. 

“You both are with me,” looking at Lon and Del. Sons of a working lady from Winter Town and my trusted friends. Both nod and move forwards to collect Sonax’s chest, and I lead them through the narrows halls and stairwells until we make it to the top deck. It was late noon, and the sun was slowly making its familiar journey across the sky, but it was getting dim enough to the use of torches. I nod to Lon and Del and they make their way to the side boats that shall by pulling us to Driftmark. Before I could even admire the island as I had done Dragonstone this morn, I see the white hair of Ser Davos. Making my way over to the man giving orders to the Greys, I approach with an honest smile. 

“Ser Davos,” I begin. Grabbing his attention as he straightens and inclines his head lightly. “Milady.”

“Firstly; thank you for showing me and mine respect and allowing me and my party use of your ship. I understand it was of short notice but what can one do when their parent wants them to hand deliver their trade? I also felt the urge to finally explore outside the North, so what better excuse?” I lightly giggle.

“Aye, milady. That is understandable when you put it like that, but-”

“-But? Come Ser, I am surprised you have made it our entire journey here without answering me with a ‘but’ before now,” I tease. Knowing he was going to finally ask . . .

“But please, ask me why,” my stance welcoming, and expression still held an honest smile, though small. I felt Ghost, her largest Soul sharer at the moment and had been overlooking the boarding of the chests, made his way over to me before I saw him. Ser Davos however, stepped back slightly and paled tremendously when her furry companion came for a rub and laid licks to my cheek.

_M’leth anam; are you in need of protection?_

_I am alright, Ghost - Ser Davos is not a threat, my boy._

_He is but curious._

_Hmm . . . I shall sit here._

_Oh . . . Alright, boy._

Ser Davos as he would be, looked surprised to see Ghost suddenly sit upon his hind legs, watch Davos intently, and then man in question nodded lightly, clearing his throat with the fingertip-less hand

“But . . . Why Driftmark, milady? Why have you decided to visit here?” Davos now looking far too curious for Arthur’s liking it seemed, for her Knight came over before I could even utter a word, looming over me like the cloaked saviours he is. Arthur was staring pointedly down at the Captain of the ship with his Indigo eyes. 

“Lady Alarra, tis’ time to leave. We have readied the boats and are waiting for you,” leaving me no space to actually say anything. Hearing the audible gulp from Ser Davos, he nods silent and mumbles a silent agreement and goes about ordering his crewmen to ready the ships to lower. 

Looking pointedly at Arthur and then Ghost who just toilets his head innocently - far too innocently for my liking. I make my way to Rhoynar-ma who held a medium sized satchel, that she seemed to have struggled with holding for long as she had let lay upon the deck floor... Moving over to her, I quickly kissed the top of her head and grab the large satchel of gold. Though it more than should be appropriate, I thought about the families of the men working day and night on the ship, the young boys who wanted a life upon the sea and the amount of help they given us. I made it clear to Arthur, Oswell, Rhoynar-ma and Dacey. Rhoynar-ma had made it clear that it seemed as though I were bribing them with the amount I first wanted to give. So, I had halved the amount and they all seemed to think it was still too much, but it didn’t look as though I were trying to bribe them.

Walking over to Ser Davos one last time, I hold out the satchel in both hands and smile and the Captain looks back at me in shock.

“Milady-”

“Now-now, I do not want to hear it. This, I had reviewed, is what I feel the correct and earned amount of gold coin that you and your men and boys deserve. You have respected our peace and have been nothing but courteous. Thank you, Ser Davos Seaworth. It was an honour to be in the presence of a hero.” I ended having to grab the older man’s hands and closing them around the satchel for he was staring at me in a daze. I step back and courtesy as one would a Lord or King, smiling and inclining my head before I spin around. Arthur and Dacey’s boat seemed to have been lowered down into the water already and 

Taking Rhoynar-ma’s hands, I helped her into her assigned boat with Oswell, who helped the Dornish woman into the boat also. As the boat began to low, I made my way to the other side where Ghost now jumped into swiftly and once, he was in, Lon and Del clambered in after and I followed them. 

I look back to Ser Davos and wave. 

“Farewell for now, Ser Davos.”

**297 AC. | Driftmark | Alarra.**

Just as Lon and Del carefully place Sonax’s chest upon the sand covered beach, I kneel to the ground slowly. I place my hand upon the sand and clutch it within my grip, and due to the fact, we were further away from the water, the sand slipped through my hand dryly. I behind to stand up once more and turn towards my party. Twenty and four soldiers guarding the three chests. Arthur and Oswell stood in front of them hands on pommels for the first sign of harm. Rhoynar-ma stood next to Dacey, the Mormont heir hand on the handle of her spiked mace at the ready also. I instantly see the Kings or Queensguard straighten suddenly, helms on and hands tightening upon their swords. Dacey Mormont moved in front of Rhoynar-ma who slipped closer to the chests.

I hear the soft footfalls behind me and the clanking of armour. 

_More than ten men. No more than twenty though . . ._

Slowly turning, I come face to face with fifteen armoured heads that I can count, some holding torches some hands-on pommels. I see two heads - pale hair . . .

_White hair._

It was too dark to see their faces, but both were of the same height, that I could tell. One of them took hold of a torch from a fellow soldier, armour silver with the emblem of a turquoise seahorse. The two men and two soldiers moved moving behind began to make their way towards me. I felt the swift presence of Arthur and Oswell behind me like a blessing, though I was not scared, I was nervous. Nervous for their welcome and their introductions. 

They came to a slow stop not far from me, a few feet or so. One of the men who wore less armour and more formal clothing held his hand up and mumbled something to the man next to him, how looked towards my person and then back before nodding. Thinking it the most obvious thing to do, I turn to Arthur and Oswell and mumbled for them to hold back for a moment and began to move forward before they could say now, as I knew they would. I see the man who seemed to be in charge begin to do the same. We met halfway and came to a stop. 

He had a torch in his left hand, which flickered daringly close to my face. He was tall - not as tall as Arthur or uncle Benjen, but closer to Oswell - the top of my head reaching his eyes-

_Purple._

_His eyes were purple!_

Looking away from his eyes, my own begin to roam his face so naturally. 

His hair was white and pale; full and thick. It parted in the middle and seemed to be tied to back, but it looked as though it was cut short, just below his jaw.

His brow slightly darker to that of his hair, I could not tell its true colour, but I assumed it was as pale as the hair on his head. 

A nose I would call handsome; a slight sharpness to it, but that maybe due to the torch light under the darkness of night. 

Lips: pale shade of pink and slim, though his bottom lip held fullness and his upper I could barely see.

Jaw; _sharp._ Tis’ sharp to the point where it reminded me of Arthur. It was slightly wide; not like fathers or Robb’s, and slightly squared. His chin I could not make out fully, but it looked perfect also . . .

He was broad shouldered. 

And handsome - especially for a man of thirty and three years. He was a year younger than father . . .

_Old Gods, I should be thinking of this man handsome when he is-_

“Visenya . . . ?” whispered and carried into the winds. The words left his lips so deeply and clearly.

_His voice was also perfect._

“Lord Monford Velaryon . . .” I breathed. Whether in question or not, I just said the first thing that came to mind.

A smile graced his lips so faintly and his eyes creased slightly in the corner of their creases. 

_He is perfect . . ._

**// END OF PART 9 \\\**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED PART 9! 
> 
> I hope the reasoning for my picking the names of the Dragons was hinted and received. I actually like the names of the dragons x 
> 
> Also, pop on over to Father, Who Am I (Pictures) to see my creations of Arthur, Oswell and Monford! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Cosain | Protect, Answer, Champion, Cost, Keep, Shield | pronounced: Coss-Sen.
> 
> | 296: Ages of Stark Children & Direwolves |
> 
> Alarra | 15 — Ghost | 2.  
> Robb | 15 — Grey Wind | 2.  
> Sansa | 11 — Lady | 2.  
> Arya | 9 — Nymeria | 2.  
> Bran | 8 — Summer | 2.  
> Rickon | 4 — Shaddydog | 2.  
> Ned — Cosain | 6.
> 
> | Some Random Facts when Writing this Fic |  
> Did anyone know that 1 Human year is equivalent to 4 years and some months for Wolves?
> 
> Did you know a ‘hand’ is used (sometimes) when measuring height and it is equivalent to 4 inches? So in turn, I have made both Robb and Alarra 5’10 (feet’inches) and Ned 6’1 in height. I believe Brandon (Ned’s bro) was about 6’2/6’3 with Benjen being the tallest of around 6’4. 
> 
> I, for some reason, have this belief Lyarra (Rickard’s wife) had been quite a tall woman, despite having Arya Flint from the Mountain Clan as her Mother, as it is scientifically proven the more colder the climate someone is raised in, the shorter they are in height due to lack of thermoregulation? Right? However, back to the point which is I believe Rickard was of average height and was not that much taller than his cousin-wife, so I put Lyarra of about 5’10 and Rickard 5’11/6’0.
> 
> Robb gets his average height from his father and that is about as much physicality he gets from Ned in my opinion, as the rest is pretty much explained in the books and show to have gotten from his Tully genetics. Alarra gets her height from her Targaryen side, as Jon is explained to be a mirror image of a Stark or of Ned, I wanted Alarra to be the complete opposite. Alarra gets her height of her real Father, Rhaegar, and her paternal Grandmother, Rhaella.
> 
> Originally Winterfell held 500 people within its walls. I've changed that to 2000. 
> 
> Edited: 18th/Jan/21  
> 51 Kudos's!!
> 
> THANK YOU!!


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